#silvia of the flash

[kurayamineko]

[ezekiel13]

Deacon when his vigil outside of Vault 101 has two women come out and one of them is very much a Vault dweller who was in there and the other one is in FULL POWER ARMOUR

[bytemee]

KILLIN’ IT GIRL — yu jimin.

♫ playing… killin' it girl by j-hope.

synopsis. you’re an F1 driver who used to feel alive doing 200 down a straight with nothing but instinct keeping you from flying off the track. but after the crash, something in you just . . . flatlined. so you come back home—burned out, bruised, and pretending it’s just for a break. it’s not long before your best friend jeno drags you out to some dockside race to show you back to your roots.

you tell yourself you show up out of habit, not interest. and that’s where you meet a cocky street racer who supposedly has the skills to back up the talk—a girl with a matte black silvia and a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

suddenly, you’re chasing something again—but it’s not a trophy this time—it’s her.

pairing. f1 racer!fem!reader x street racer!karina

genre. romance, slow burn, street racing au.

disclaimer(s). mild language, they want each other sooooooooo badddddddd, ion really watch f1 chat so idek how that goes down … 💔, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, r is so whipped bru.. and let me know if there’s more!

word count. 12.6k

authors note. my ex liked cars. i like my ex. wait im getting off topic.. chat!! #byteback 😛 also i hate this oneshot but ive been teasing it so i shall give it to you guys.

"and now coming into turn seven, it's y/l/n, hugging the inside lane for position. oh my god, she's keeping pressure on the red bull car into the chicane. is she insane?" one of the announcers sounds impressed, while the other sounds absolutely terrified. "she's still pressuring the red bull into the chicane!"

you watch your own car tuck tighter around the corner than it should've been able to, chassis flexing hard, tires practically squealing against the curb, apex kissed so clean it almost looks planned. but you remember that moment; you weren't planning. you were chasing, chasing so hard you ignored the voices of your pit crew screaming through your headphones to back off, to not take that line, to give yourself room for error.

although, in your eyes, the car ahead pulled just wide enough, leaving an opening no wider than a heartbeat, and your body moved before your brain could argue. "she's going for it! SHE'S GOING FOR IT! into turn nine now! she's still right there—"

"there's no room—she's got no room! can she even hold that?!"

your breath catches right where it did the first time, even though you already know how it ends. the screen stutters slightly, the shaky camera from the rear wing of the red bull car picking up a flash of red surging into the shot—your ferrari nosing into a space so small it shouldn't exist. the crowd volume through the feed surges so loud it sounds like a wave, a deafening roar from 100,000 voices.

"she's taking it! OH MY GOD—she's inside! Y/L/N IS INSIDE INTO TURN NINE—"

that's when the back end lifts. not much, just enough. the front-left tire clips the curb, and the whole car shifts wrong. the front skids, dragging sideways as you try to catch it, but the angle's already broken and your speed's too much. your gut dropped like you missed a stair, fingers tightening around the steering wheel, and mind blanking for a split second.

"she's lost grip—rear end is sliding—she's—oh, no—NO—she's airborne—!"

the screen flashes white for a beat as the camera loses focus, debris scattering like ash across the track. the next angle is a long shot, brutal and slow: your car spinning mid air like a goddamn coin toss. your chassis clips the barrier, sending the back end fishtailing in the opposite direction, and then your car crumples against the curb with the sound of metal tearing and a crunch so loud you can feel it vibrating through the screen.

your body twists against the harness, your head snapping forward before being thrown back into the seat as the car slams to a stop. then the entire field is moving, the cars behind you slowing as they weave around the wreckage while your car continues to spin slowly to a halt in the middle of the track.

"y/l/n into the barrier—massive crash at nine! red flag immediately! that's a red—call the medics—call the damn medics now—!"

you pause it there. you don't need to see the rest. you remember the way that car felt as it wrapped itself around you. how your ears rang as you sat there, stunned, trying to get the seatbelt unbuckled so you could climb out. how you ended up flat on your ass on the pavement, helmet off, vision blurred from the smoke of the fire, and couldn't even find it in you to be mad.

the f1 car was a write-off; there was no salvaging anything from that mess. meaning the team will have to start from scratch, building a brand new machine for you to race next season.

your phone buzzes from the armrest. you pause the video and answer it without checking the id, too focused on what you were watching to care.

"are you still watching yourself almost die like it's porn?" jeno's voice comes through with a small chuckle.

you scoff, leaning back in your seat. "it's for analysis," you mutter.

jeno lets out a scoff himself in response, and you can hear the subtle eye roll in his voice when he speaks again. "you're on your mom's couch watching yourself crash for the fiftieth time. that's not analysis. that's depression, my friend."

your mouth tilts upward slightly. he always did know how to needle just right. you lean your head back against the couch cushion, letting your neck stretch and your mind idle. "what do you want?"

"i'm five minutes out," he says. "put on something pretty for me, yeah?"

you glance toward the hallway, where your bedroom door is half-open and your duffel bag sits untouched since the day you came home. it's only been two and a half days, but it feels like an eternity has passed since then. "what if i said no?"

"then i tell everyone ferrari's softest girl's too scared to show her face back where she started."

your brow creases slightly. that was a cheap shot, but it was also very, very effective. because you soon push off the couch, stretching out the stiffness that's taken up permanent residence in your shoulders. "fine. give me five."

"make it three."

you hang up.

your bedroom is exactly the same. posters of old tracks, yellowing at the corners, and trophies collecting dust on every available surface. a closet full of racing jackets you grew out of ages ago but never threw away. a stack of textbooks from when you were in high school that you couldn't bring yourself to get rid of, even though they're covered in years' worth of grime. even the sheets on your bed are the same—a faded red and white plaid that's been washed so many times the colors are starting to blend together.

the only thing that's different is the duffel bag open on the floor in the middle of your bedroom hallway. you still can't bring yourself to unpack it. can't even stand to look at it for too long before you feel the itch under your skin to leave again. it's not that you don't want to be here; it's that everything feels like a half-step behind where you need it to be.

the sound of a car engine pulling up outside jolts you from your thoughts. you grab your cap off the edge of your desk as you head for the door, tucking it over your messy hair without much thought. the night air bites as you step out, the streetlights flickering in the distance. jeno honks once, obnoxious as ever, grinning at you through the open window.

"took you long enough," he calls.

"had to mourn my dignity," you mutter, sliding into the passenger seat.

jeno laughs as he shifts into gear, taking off down the street so fast you fall back into your seat. you shoot him a glare before resting your elbow on the window and staring out as the houses blur past. jeno's talking—he always is, but it blends into white noise. you can only hear the rush of air through the open window, the rumble of the engine as he shifts, and the clink of metal on metal with every movement.

"you're brooding," he says, glancing sideways. "i thought you were supposed to be happy to be back. you missed this town, didn't you? maranello not hitting it for you anymore?"

"no," you say, shaking your head. jeno speeds through a yellow light, swearing under his breath as he hits the gas. "it's not that."

jeno scoffs, rolling his eyes so hard he almost turns into another lane. "if it's not that, then what is it, huh?"

you don't answer. just reach forward and turn the radio up, eyes never leaving his as you do. jeno sighs, lips pressing together as he focuses back on the road.

you can smell it before you hear it: the familiar stench of burning rubber and smoke. the sound comes next with a roar of engines and a commotion of voices—and just past the rusted chain-link gate, the scene spills open like a wound: people swarming, cars idling with their doors thrown wide, and kids hanging off the sides to get a better look.

"looks the same," you mutter.

"feels the same," jeno says. "that's what matters."

he swings the car into a spot near the perimeter, not too close to the action but close enough to be noticed. as he kills the engine, you shove the door open and step out, rolling your shoulders back, adjusting your hat so it sits low over your eyes. people are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, murmuring under their breath, or crowding around hoods. the engines are still warm, some still ticking. it smells like tire smoke, gasoline, and whatever someone's smoking down the lot. for a second, it almost feels like you never left.

there are a few glances in your direction as you make your way through the crowd, but they're fleeting, as if the person's eyes skim past you and then snap back once they realize who you are. jeno trails behind you, keeping his mouth shut for once as you weave between the bodies.

"jeno!" someone shouts from deeper in the crowd. a guy near a souped-up miata raises a hand, already grinning wide. "you asshole, i thought you were in dallas."

"was," jeno says, mouth tilting up. "thought i'd come take everyone's money at the races tonight instead."

he claps hands with the guy, and you get pulled into their circle by proximity. there's a little overlap of greetings: nods, chin lifts, and half-familiar faces from a past you mostly raced through. "wait," another voice cuts in, a girl with short braids and a vape in hand. "hold up. . . jeno, is this who i think it is?"

all eyes flick to you. it takes every inch of your racing nerves not to stiffen.

"damn," she says, grinning. "you really showed up in that loud-ass ferrari hat like you want people to recognize you. subtle's not your thing, huh?"

"fuck you," you say easily, a smile playing at your lips, "i'm blending."

"with what? a traffic flare?"

laughter ripples through the group, but it's not mean. jeno grins, wide and crooked and mischievous, and the group soon falls into a steady conversation that you really have no input in, so, naturally, you zone out. your eyes scan the spread of cars, your eyes falling onto a turbocharged civic that looks like it's been stripped and rebuilt by hand. it's an ugly hunk of metal, but if you squint hard enough, you can see the potential.

then your eyes drift more until they land on something else—something entirely different from the rest. a matte black silvia parked at a slight angle, almost like it's intentionally being antagonistic to the other cars around it. the light catches the black paint and makes it look iridescent, and it takes you a moment to realize that there's no one standing beside it, no one with their hands on the hood or admiring the interior.

the driver's seat is empty.

you step away from the crowd, letting jeno's voice fade into the background as you weave through the mass of bodies closer to the silvia. you walk up to it slowly, studying it. no flash, no decals, but the widebody is just aggressive enough to make a statement. god, you need to see what's under the hood. it's calling out to you.

you squat slightly at the side, inspecting the suspension with one hand braced on your knee.

"if you're gonna stare at her ass that hard," a voice calls out, "at least buy her dinner first."

you blink. straighten up slowly as you look around for the source of the voice. she's leaning against the side of the silvia, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression on her face. if you didn't know any better, you'd say she looks a little smug.

you raise an eyebrow, giving her a toothless smile. "i was more interested in her front end," you say, standing up. "but hey. to each their own, i guess."

she cocks her head slightly, eyes dragging over your cap. "f1 driver's got jokes?" she muses. she shifts her weight, uncrossing her arms to stuff them into the pockets of her jacket.

"how'd you guess? did the logo give it away?" you fire back, not missing a beat, your fingertips grazing the logo on the front of your cap.

"no," she replies. "the ego. and unfortunately i've seen your face before."

you laugh under your breath. you like her immediately.

you break eye contact, looking back at the car. "it's a clean build," you say, glancing back at karina. "i can appreciate that. but do you drive her or just stand around making assumptions?"

she pushes off the car, one hand sliding across the hood like it's a reflex. "i drive her. and i win."

you glance sideways at her. "then maybe i'll stick around," you murmur. "see what all the fuss is about."

you turn away from her, eyes falling onto another car, pretending not to watch the way she lingers. a supra this time. too much going on with the paint, too little done under the hood. you scan it absently, but your focus is half there, half on the girl standing behind you before walking over to another car.

your phone vibrates. jeno's name flashes across the screen, accompanied by a string of texts.

jeno Bro where'd u go Race is starting U see that supra? LMAO it's got a fake widebody 😭

you look up, already moving. jeno's not far; you see him posted near a group gathered around the line-up chart, his arms crossed, phone still in one hand. he sees you and straightens up. "there you are," he says as you walk up. "you miss me?"

you shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, letting out a hum that sounds like a laugh. jeno doesn't bother asking where you went, just jerks his thumb toward the small commotion ahead. your eyes follow the noise—some guy with a shaved head pacing near a couple of parked cars, voice raised, clearly pissed. he's got a phone in one hand, gesturing with the other like someone's supposed to magically appear and fix his problem.

then his eyes lock on jeno.

"yo! you," the guy barks, already walking over. "you running tonight or what?"

jeno holds up his palms immediately, backing off. "nah, i'm just here to lose money tonight."

the guy groans, annoyed, eyes shifting to you. "what about you?"

you shrug. "i can race."

he pauses. he looks you up and down, and you catch the twitch in his brow when it clicks. he knows who you are. of course he does. but he doesn't comment on it, just nods, running his fingers along the bottom of his chin.

jeno turns to you, eyebrow raised. "you serious right now?"

you don't even answer. just reach out your hand, and he sighs before tossing you his keys like he knew this was coming the moment you showed up.

"full tank. tires are fresh. don't make me regret it."

"no promises."

you're halfway to the car when he calls after you. "you remember how to drive without a radio guy screaming in your ear?"

you throw him a look over your shoulder. "guess we're about to find out."

the supra purrs to life under your hands. it's not like your ferrari. that thing needed finesse, tight hands, and the kind of control that came from years of hearing people yell in your ear through a headset. this car? this one wants to be thrown around. it wants to be taken on the kind of ride you only take once in a lifetime, the kind that leaves you breathless and bruised and feeling like you got hit by a truck.

your fingers flex against the steering wheel as you get to the line, and the driver next to you glances your way before shifting in his seat, hands settling just above the gearshift. she's loud, just a little bit messy, but fast in the way that makes your teeth itch. it's no wonder jeno treats this thing like his baby.

the crowd's tightening near the makeshift strip now, cones barely keeping people from stepping into the path of the cars. it feels like every eye in the place is on you, even though you know that it's probably true (not your ego talking here)—most of them are waiting to see if this chick with the fancy f1 cap actually knows what she's doing.

you pull the supra up to the line, and then, damn, you hear it before you see it. that low purr of the silvia as she pulls up right beside you, and when you glance over, you almost laugh. she's leaning back against the headrest like she's not even taking this seriously, and you watch as her eyes slide from the crowd to the line in front of her.

flag girl steps up.

then karina turns her head with a grin so sharp you can feel it against your skin and says, "you're actually running. that's cute." she says, her voice casual through the crack in her window.

you don't even blink. "mhm. hope you're ready to lose then? just take it well' because sore losers are kind of a turnoff," you shoot back.

karina's laugh is low and soft as she shifts her weight, rolling down the window slightly more so you can see the amused look on her face. "i'll show you a sore loser if that's what you're really after."

you raise an eyebrow. it's like she's forgetting who's got the bigger horsepower between the two of you, but you don't call her out on it because that's almost cute—how she thinks she's still got a shot.

the flag goes up.

you blink once.

the flag drops.

and you're gone. the world around you becomes noise with wind in your hair and your foot pressed down. the supra kicks hard under the wheel, vibrating in time with the rumbling roar of the engine. this part's easy, a well-oiled instinct: your eyes glancing up in the rearview, then the front view, your peripheral focused on the other cars on the line with you. you take note of how they position themselves and how much they push. how they want to play it.

karina's right there, holding. you can feel her more than you can see her, the pressure of her car riding yours, matching pace, not backing off. but when your ears catch what happens before your brain even registers what the sound is, you glance up, smiling.

there's a hesitation in the silvia's rhythm, a half-second where her engine note flinches, like karina came up just a little too fast on the clutch or didn't match the revs as cleanly as she meant to. it's the kind of thing most people would chalk up to nothing, but you know better, because you've lived in the cracks of moments like that.

she doesn't lose control. not even close. but the car pulls weird for a second, like it's trying to find its feet again, and in that exact moment, the door cracks open.

so you take it.

you downshift fast, drop to the inside, and push past her before she can close the space. it's close, your headlights almost kissing the tail of her car. but it works. she has to tap her brakes to avoid getting caught up in your draft. that buys you a few inches, and those inches become a few feet. but of course she doesn't let it slide. she pushes harder now, right on your tail again, refusing to let you walk away with it. you're both taking turns hot on the inside.

she's a goddamn terror.

there are two kinds of drivers: the ones who know they're going to win the race and the ones who won't be denied a victory. it's always obvious when a driver falls into one of these camps. some will stay in formation all the way to the checkered flag, biding their time and waiting for a mistake that never comes. they have a sort of patience to them. a restraint. that kind of racing is measured. controlled. almost surgical. it's about strategy, finesse, and execution.

then there are those who want to take a victory right from the jaws of a loss. they push to the edge of what they know, but never over it, and it's obvious why they do it. that kind of racing isn't about the end goal; it's about the rush of the journey. it's about knowing just how far you can push your limits and doing it anyway. it's about making the whole world hold their breath while you test them.

karina's not patient. she's reckless, aggressive, and absolutely fucking beautiful. she takes what she wants. she pushes as hard as she needs.

and she never stops. not when she's on a roll, not when her engine is struggling, and certainly not when you're both neck-and-neck for a third time tonight. anyone else would've lost grip by now, but she's got something to prove. you can feel it through the way her engine screams behind you, desperate to close the gap.

soon the final straight comes into view, and you push your supra hard, your car growling and bucking and struggling under your hands as you keep the revs as high as you can handle. the silvia is right on your tail, both of you locked in an intense battle for the lead, and for a brief moment you can feel karina's eyes on you through her side mirror.

you cross first. not by much—but enough.

your foot eases off the gas as you breathe again, letting the car slow down gradually so she doesn't stall. your head is spinning slightly with a cocktail of adrenaline and disbelief at the fact that this race was more fun than it should have been. this wasn't about winning—that part just felt good—this was about feeling alive.

and, god, you feel more alive than you have in years.

it takes a while before you finally roll the supra to a stop on the grass, the crowd spilling from the sidelines now. you sit there for a moment, head thrown back against the seat as you let your eyes close, just trying to breathe.

people are banging on your car now, congratulating you through the glass, and some are even walking over to inspect it, but you don't pay them much mind, too caught up in how you feel right now. you won. and you actually won it. no crash. no penalties. no one is telling you not to celebrate like it means nothing.

the driver's door wrenches open. jeno is there, grinning so hard his eyes almost close. "look at you," he says, clapping you on the shoulder. "fucking incredible, right?"

you laugh breathlessly as jeno puts his hands on your shoulder, tugging you forward. you let yourself be dragged out of the car and into jeno's arms, letting yourself breathe as you press your cheek into the front of his jacket, letting yourself just be there for a moment. you don't let yourself dwell on the feeling much; your adrenaline is too high for anything other than grinning so hard it hurts.

but you see her. standing off to the side of the commotion. hood up, head ducked under it. she glances at you for only a second before looking away again. your feet carry you over without asking your brain if that's a good idea, but you can't help it—the rush is making you bolder than you've been in a while, so you take it. you let yourself close the distance until she turns and looks you square in the eye, expression unreadable, fingers twitching at her sides.

"rough night?" you offer, a stupid, satisfied grin on your face.

karina exhales, breaking the contact, and closes her hood. "shut up," she says, avoiding your eyes.

"you misfired on third," you point out. "too quick on the clutch. she didn't catch."

"yeah, i know," she snaps, then sighs.

"i could take a look," you add.

she narrows her eyes.

"i don't need help."

"never said you did," you smile. "but i'm bored, and my ego's already full."

she raises an eyebrow, eyes flickering down to your lips as if she doesn't even know she's doing it, but then she catches herself. "you're a pain," she says.

"so i've been told."

she grins. "i bet you have," she says. "although, i have a mechanic. thanks, but i'll pass."

she turns, hair whipping, and you watch her leave without a word. you're still standing there, just like that, staring like she hung the damn moon. you don't know if it's because of the race, because of the high, because of her, or maybe it's a combination of everything. whatever the reason is, it leaves you grinning stupidly, standing alone by her car with nothing to say.

it's hot in the garage. like, if the devil lived somewhere, he'd probably choose somewhere that felt exactly like this. to make it worse, your shirt's clinging in places, and your hands are permanently stained with grease no matter how many times you wipe them on the rag tucked into your waistband. you've got half your body leaned under the hood of some beat-up genesis that jeno swore he'd fix up before graduation . . . he graduated years ago. so now you're left with the mess.

your dad's inside handling customers like he always does. very friendly, too friendly, because he talks too much, and his voice echoes through the small space like an air raid siren. he means well, truly. you're not really paying attention until the bell over the front door jingles and you hear him call out, voice lit up with recognition.

"jimin! you're early—bring the car?"

jimin?

your brow creases. who's jimin?

"thought i'd beat the heat. hope that's okay."

you freeze. blink once. then pull your head out from under the hood just enough to see her standing there. in the flesh. karina. she looks different out of the racing scene, somehow. you're not sure how, exactly, but it's definitely the case. it's something about how she's wearing her hair loose, something about how the lines on her face seem to relax without the adrenaline to hold her up.

you quickly get from under the car, a panic in your joints as you busy yourself with... absolutely nothing. karina...jimin? she doesn't see you yet—your back's to her, and you don't speak because you know you'd start to ramble if you opened your mouth.

"one of the kids outside can pull it in if you want," your dad says. "mine's under that genesis right now."

karina squints. you don't move.

"your kid?" she asks, curious.

your dad jerks a thumb toward you. "right there."

you turn slowly, dragging the back of your hand across your jaw. "hey."

karina stares, blinks. for a beat, she doesn't say anything. she just takes you in, looks you over, like she didn't expect you to be the person standing behind that genesis. which, fair—you hadn't exactly expected this either. but other than that, it's more of your appearance: the white shirt, the old hat, the dark stain of engine oil on the front of your chest, and the sweat clinging to your temples. it's definitely different.

her lips part like she's gonna say something slick, but she fumbles it. it's almost funny. "you're... you're his kid?"

"didn't expect that, huh?"

she recovers fast, folding her arms with a smirk. "explains the attitude."

"explains the driving," you shoot back, wiping your hands off on the rag. "didn't know you brought your car here."

"didn't know you were here; would've never thought you knew how to get your hands dirty."

you shrug, "i didn't think my dad was your mechanic."

"he's been good to my car," she says, and you can hear the grin in her voice. "better than you were last night."

your laugh comes out as a sharp laugh, and you finally step back, moving away from her to create space for one of the workers to pull the car into a free space in the garage. you take another step back and turn your head to the side, trying to calm your racing pulse as you watch the two men guide her silvia into the spot right beside the genesis and lock the brakes.

karina watches quietly as well, arms folded over her chest as she follows their movements like a hawk, and she doesn't even move once they get off, like she's afraid to breathe on it wrong. it almost makes you laugh if you weren't so goddamn charmed by it.

"started pulling left in third," she says finally, stepping in beside you. "feels like it's dragging."

you crouch again, grabbing a flashlight and a few tools and lying flat on the creeper as you slide under her car without missing a beat. "you hit something?"

"just your ego."

you let out a quiet snort, tightening a bolt. "still intact, thanks."

there's silence from above, then a low laugh. "you always this hands-on?" her voice is closer now, almost above you.

you reach up toward a bracket without thinking. "depends. you into that?"

"a little too into it," she says, and the smirk is audible. "watching you handle a wrench like that kinda makes me wanna climb into the passenger seat. or your lap. whichever's closer."

your brain short-circuits. you stop moving for a second—just a second—but it's enough. you turn your head a little too fast to look at her, and—clank—your skull connects hard with the edge of the frame.

"ow—shit!" you yank back instantly, hand flying to your forehead. "god—damn it—"

"oh my god," she laughs, but she's already crouching next to you. "did you seriously just knock yourself out because i said i'd sit on your lap?"

"technically," you mutter, squeezing one eye shut as you wince, sliding out from under the car as quickly as you can without giving yourself whiplash or a concussion. you prop yourself up on one hand as you run the other through your hair with a wince. "it was the delivery that got me."

"you're ridiculous."

you hum for a second, eyes trailing over her before you look up with a grin. "i love how much you feed into my degrading kink," you teasingly mutter.

ignoring your comment her eyes drop to your forehead, where you can already feel the beginnings of a knot forming just under the hairline, her eyes softening. without warning she leans over, hand on the creeper and fingertips brushing your skin, and you have to bite back the groan of pain that almost leaves you as she inspects it, tongue peeking out between her lips in concentration.

"and you're bleeding a little," she points out, reaching for you without hesitation. her fingers brush your temple, gentle, warm. your heart stutters a bit. curse pretty girls.

"you check all your mechanics this close, or just the ones under your hood?" you mutter, trying to sound amused, not affected.

she scoffs, pulling her hand back, but not before her thumb lingers for just a second longer than it has to. "just the ones who slam their heads like amateurs."

"cute coming from someone who nearly stripped third gear last night."

that earns a real reaction. her eyes flash as her mouth twitches into a half-smile. she looks happy. and it's like you just saw the sun set for the first time in years. "you really want to go there?"

"do you?" you're grinning now.

she shakes her head, rolling her eyes to the point they might actually fall out of her head. "if i pour brake fluid on you, do you think that'll fix your attitude?"

"i mean, i've heard worse foreplay."

there's a pause. you hear her exhale sharply through her nose, biting down a smile before she finally steps back, head shaking. "fix my car."

"yes, ma'am." you wink, leaning back again and getting back under her car before she can see your red face.

she stands there for a second, clearly caught off guard and a little more flustered than she's willing to admit, but she covers it up with a glare and walks off toward the front of the shop where your dad is and goes to talk to him instead of dealing with the fact that she just tried to make you choke on your own tongue.

it doesn't take long to fix up her transmission. the drag isn't bad, and the knocking she's been feeling isn't something she should be worried about. still, it's easy money. your dad comes around the corner while you're tucking the rag into the side pocket, wiping your hands on the bottom of your shirt.

"she's all fixed, no charge."

karina narrows her eyes immediately. "i'm paying," she insists.

he chuckles. "no, no—we're calling it an early birthday present."

you snort, taking your rag out of your pocket and tossing it onto the workbench. karina rolls her eyes, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket and smiling a little. it's a real smile.

"thanks," she says.

"of course. don't hesitate to bring her back, okay?"

she nods. you're not sure if she even hears the question. he turns and goes back inside.

it's quiet for a few seconds.

you kick the leg of the creeper with the toe of your boot, sliding the tool out from under her car. she watches as you slide the tray back under the genesis, the same genesis you spent an hour fumbling with earlier, and the entire time you're silent, just listening to the click-clack of her heel on the floor.

"that's an old genesis." she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"my friend left it here years ago. kinda had no choice but to try and do something with it."

"your friend the same person that bet 30k on you yesterday night?" she muses.

"what can i say? he believes in me."

she lets out a chuckle, tilting her head and squinting as she takes you in. "you ever think about what you'd do if you weren't racing?" her voice is softer, more curious than challenging.

you glance over, caught off guard for a second, but you meet her eyes without hesitation. "not really. this is who i am, i guess."

she makes a noise like an agreement. it's so low, it could be a purr. she's quiet after that, but the silence isn't awkward; it's almost thoughtful, like she's still processing it or maybe just deciding on the words.

she glances at her feet, then back to you, then to her feet again. "there's a car meet happening at the beach tonight."

you tilt your head a bit, curious. "yeah?"

she nods, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "yeah. no racing, just people showing off their rides, stuff like that."

"i've never seen a car meet without at least one street race."

she grins. "there'll be beer and bonfire food. we can play some music and pretend to get drunk, then stumble home."

you narrow your eyes a little. "i don't remember saying i was going."

karina shrugs, her hands still stuffed in the pockets of her jacket as she leans back against her car. "you didn't," she says, tilting her head just enough for her hair to catch the light, "but you're not saying no either."

you huff, the corner of your mouth twitching despite your best effort to keep your expression flat. "confident."

a shrug. her grin is crooked. it makes your heart pound. "gotta have some kind of ego if i wanna drive the way i do."

"sure. i can meet you there, right?"

"don't make me wait."

"never," you whisper, giving her a half-hearted salute.

"mmm, don't flirt with me."

you let your smile drop, your hand dropping from your forehead. "i'm...trying."

"see ya later, hotshot." she tosses a smirk over her shoulder as she climbs into the driver's seat, leaving you staring.

the silvia roars to life. she pulls out of the garage and drives off.

you stand there a moment longer. staring. trying to get a hold of yourself. then you turn on your heel and head inside the office, wiping the grease from the corner of your lip and shaking your head.

you end up taking a taxi, telling yourself it's just to get some air, just to pass time. but when you get dropped off a block away from the meet and hear the bass from the beach thumping through the pavement, you know exactly what you're doing. it's the kind of energy you'd follow anywhere.

the parking lot is empty, but the stretch of sand isn't. cars, bodies, and firelight span as far as your eyes can see. the smell of gasoline and weed permeates the air, mixing with the distant sounds of crashing waves and the pulsing bass coming from the speakers parked near the road. it's been a while since you've seen a gathering this big, but somehow it feels like the exact thing you need tonight.

you wander. taking everything in. you've only been to the beach twice, but it's changed since you were a kid. it's like there's a sense of familiarity and distance at once—like it's yours but also isn't—and the thought of being somewhere between a place and a memory makes your chest ache.

you're halfway through the crowd when something familiar stops you.

that silvia.

it stands out in the mess of cars, black paint sparkling like stars in the glow of the fires, and suddenly your palms start to sweat, heartbeat skipping, a feeling that's become increasingly common since last night. you move forward, letting the crowd close the distance behind you, until finally your footsteps crunch against the sand.

you glance around, half expecting to see her leaning against it, smug smile and all. but there's no sign of her. you move past a group of people crowded around a vintage skyline, still looking. a couple of them eye you as you pass, maybe recognizing you, maybe wondering who the hell you think you are walking through the lot without an invitation.

you're too preoccupied with finding a pretty face in the middle of all the pretty cars to even notice.

there are a few dozen faces around, laughing and drinking, but no one you want to look at.

"you lost or just looking for me?"

you turn, and there she is, standing a few feet back with a bottle in her hand, eyebrow raised, wearing the kind of smile that tells you she knew exactly how long you've been here, looking for her. she steps in closer and offers you the bottle, her gaze dropping to your mouth.

your throat is dry, suddenly. "depends. you hiding from me?"

she takes another step closer. you're close enough to see the fire reflecting off the silver rings on her fingers. close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin. "why would i do that?" she murmurs.

you swallow. hard. a shrug, nonchalant, and you reach for the bottle in her hand. your fingers brush, fuzzy and tender, and the touch is electric. your skin feels alive.

"come on," she says.

you go.

and you're not exactly sure how long you and karina end up walking side by side, weaving between rows of cars and half-tipsy strangers showing off their mods. you don't say much; you mostly just walk next to each other, close enough that you could bump shoulders.

she glances up at you. you glance at her. and it goes like that: the two of you trading glances until you get to a pink nissan 350z, and you take a step closer, trying to mask your curiosity by keeping your expression passive, neutral, and bored.

but your eyes flick over it, unintentionally admiring. there's a small chip in the front bumper and some minor damage on the side. still, it's a beautiful car—the kind of beautiful that can't be denied. "that's..."

"giselle's," karina says, amused by your awe.

"you didn't tell me you knew her," you murmur, crouching just slightly to take in the angle of the spoiler. "jesus, this thing is ridiculous."

karina's eyes flick sideways. "you like it?"

"i'd marry it."

she laughs. the sound is different from the sharp, low noise you heard her make the first time you saw her. it's soft and melodic. you didn't think a laugh could ever make you feel this warm inside.

karina's still smiling when you stand again, brushing your hands on the sides of your jeans.

you try to keep your breathing steady, but her gaze is distracting.

you stretch your neck a little, trying not to overthink it. "what?" you ask.

"nothing." her voice is light. playful. she's lying.

you roll your eyes. she snorts, grabbing you by the wrist. and you follow, letting her pull you back toward the beach, her palm pressed flat to yours.

the breeze picks up, pushing you gently forward. she doesn't let go. her fingers slot perfectly between yours, and when she pulls you into a circle, the warmth spreads through you, sinking deep into your bones.

"you're secretly soft." you break the silence with a hushed whisper, as if not wanting to shatter the moment.

karina arches a brow, a smile tugging at her lips. you can see a challenge glimmering in her eyes, like she wants to prove you wrong but also prove you right.

she tightens her grip.

tilts her head.

and her voice is barely a whisper as she leans in closer and says, "you wish, hotshot."

and then she turns, still holding your hand, guiding you through the thinning crowd. you don't ask where you're going. you don't care. you'd follow her anywhere right now.

eventually, you stop beside the silvia, parked on the edge of the lot, closest to the sand. her windows are cracked. the scent of ocean air floods your senses. karina turns toward you, letting her eyes slide over your face, her gaze lingering on the bridge of your nose, then dipping to your mouth, before moving back up towards your eyes.

"you wanna drive?"

you blink. "what?"

she nods toward the silvia. "wanna drive?"

your heartbeat skips, but you keep it under control. "you're joking."

"i'm not."

you stare at her for a second, speechless. you could swear she's enjoying herself. you shift, stepping away and taking in the sight of the car again. the black paint, the lowered stance.

"yeah." you pause. look her in the eyes, almost scared that if you don't hold her gaze, this will all turn out to be a dream. "yeah, i wanna drive."

the smile on her face is instant, her dimples making her cheeks look full, her eyes glinting. she tosses you the keys, and you catch them with both hands like they might shatter if they hit the ground.

getting into her silvia feels weird—personal, intimate, like stepping into a home that isn't yours. but when she slides in beside you, settling into the passenger seat with a satisfied hum, all that worry fades away.

she looks at you, leaning back in the chair with her arms crossed and a knowing grin playing on her lips. "let's see what you got, hotshot," she muses, turning to stare ahead.

it doesn't matter that the silvia's a few years old or that her leather is starting to peel. the engine is powerful and responsive. she runs so clean you'd swear she just rolled off the factory line. when you open her up, you hear the v6 rev, a throaty, sexy sound.

"oh shit, is that a coyote?" you murmur, your foot easing off the accelerator and tapping the brakes.

she scoffs, almost sounding offended. "what? like you weren't already in love."

"never said i wasn't," you say, the corner of your mouth lifting. "just didn't expect you to actually have a proper engine in this thing. figured you'd have some gerbil running around a wheel, getting fat off all those rotations."

her brow twitches. she looks amused. "is that really how you're gonna talk while sitting behind the wheel of my baby?"

you grin.

she narrows her eyes. "watch it."

you flex your fingers around the leather-covered steering wheel, still staring straight ahead, trying to resist the urge to tease her just a little bit more.

"okay," she says after a beat, glancing out the window like she's debating something. "take the next right."

you do, no hesitation.

the street curves, narrowing between trees and low apartment buildings. it's quiet, a bit too quiet after the meet, and you pull to the curb slowly, shifting the car into park. your foot lingers on the brake.

you don't move. not right away.

she glances at you, brow raised.

"what, waiting for applause?" she teases, already unclipping her seatbelt.

you shake your head, grinning as you kill the engine. "just soaking it in. that might be the most fun i've had all week."

karina hums like she doesn't believe you, but the way she looks at you says otherwise. she lets her fingers slip under the door handle and pushes it open, one knee popping out. and then her body follows.

you follow behind, walking her to the building, hand curled loosely around her keys, and when you stop, she turns to face you.

she holds her hand out. "keys."

you oblige, dropping them into her palm with a grin. "thanks for trusting me."

she smiles a bit. shakes her head.

there's a stretch of silence where the two of you are just sort of smiling at each other, neither of you wanting to look away or say anything, until you give her one last smile before pulling out your phone and plopping down onto the curb, unlocking it and clicking on your contact book.

karina cocks her head curiously.

"what are you doing?"

"calling a taxi," you mutter, not even looking up from your screen. "or an uber...maybe."

she stares at you like you just told her the earth is flat. karina blinks. "you're serious."

you glance up, thumbs still hovering over the screen. "uh. yeah?"

she lets out a quiet breath—somewhere between a scoff and a laugh—and takes a step closer. "you just drove my car like you were born in it, said it was the most fun you've had all week, and now you're gonna call a taxi? you're really gonna sit here like a sad little valet?"

you lower your phone. "okay, first of all, that's rude."

karina watches you for a beat longer, then sighs—exaggerated, dramatic—before jingling her keys and nodding toward the building.

"come up."

you hesitate.

"i'm not going to ask twice." her tone is firm.

you can't argue with her. so you take the bait and get up from the sidewalk, slipping the phone back into your pocket. she steps toward the entrance and pulls the door open, glancing over her shoulder just long enough to give you a look that tells you to follow, which you do.

the lobby is dark. she leads the way without stopping.

you end up following her up several flights of stairs, only letting out a small grunt once when the third-floor landing comes into view, the number stenciled onto the wall in silver. she doesn't hear you.

once you reach the landing, you can't help but glance around the space. it's nothing impressive: white walls, blue carpets, and light-colored lights blinking above, the hall empty save for the two of you. karina keeps going, doesn't break stride, and you match her pace without a word, not daring to disturb the quiet.

she stops at the door near the end of the corridor and reaches into her pocket. a jangle of metal, and she pops the key in the lock, twisting and turning, then nudging it open and stepping inside.

it's nice. nothing like your old place or the studio apartment you're renting now, but nice. homey. there are pillows on the sofa and books on the shelves. the scent of coffee lingers, and the table has a cute little flower-print runner. you've never been to a home that looks like this, not that you've been to many, anyway.

she doesn't stop to talk or even look back. she moves forward and slides off her jacket, tossing it on the countertop.

"so this is it," she murmurs, hands bracing the edge. "kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, balcony." she gestures. her nails are painted, chipping slightly.

"cute place," you say, not moving from the spot you're glued to. "suits you."

she scoffs. "is that a compliment?"

"maybe," you grin, scratching the back of your neck and rocking on your heels. "can't quite figure you out."

her eyes stay trained on the ground as a soft, dry laugh leaves her throat. "not hard," she shrugs. "i'm not that complicated." liar.

your eyes trail over the side of her face, trying to find something you're not sure even exists.

that's when something soft brushes against your leg.

you look down.

a fluffy black cat is winding itself through your legs, purring softly and blinking its golden eyes at you, as if welcoming you home.

"that's clementine," karina says, dropping her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door. "she's sassy."

you crouch slowly, hand out. clementine doesn't hesitate. she presses her little head into your palm like she's known you her whole life.

karina glances back and stares. "wow. okay. she never likes people that fast."

"guess she likes me."

karina makes a noncommittal noise as she walks to the kitchen and disappears around the corner.

you end up sitting on the couch with clementine stretched across your lap like a spoiled queen. she purrs so hard your thighs vibrate, her paws kneading at the hem of your hoodie, and you don't even realize how tired you are until your eyelids start to droop.

you shift a little, stretch your legs out, and blink slowly. you don't mean to let your eyes close, but your head tilts back against the cushion and your body goes heavy before you can stop it.

karina leans in the doorway, sipping from a glass she barely remembers filling. she takes one look at you, then glances over to the window and lets her eyes slide shut. she wants to tell you to go.

instead, she's trying to figure out when exactly the mood changed. you look too comfortable. it throws her off. and maybe she wants to be that comfortable, too.

karina lets herself look at you again, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, your hands curled loosely on clementine's sides. she should probably wake you, maybe even offer to buy you a ride home or something—

but, somehow, her feet carry her into the bathroom, where she moves through her routine on autopilot—brushing her teeth, washing her face, and tying her hair back. it's quiet, but her mind is loud, full of thoughts she doesn't want to name.

when she flicks off the light and walks barefoot toward her room, the house feels smaller somehow.

she slips under the covers, pulls the blanket up to her chest, and stares at the ceiling.

clementine's not at the foot of the bed like usual.

karina sighs.

"god," she mutters, shoving the blanket back and swinging her legs over the edge. she stands for a second, half-expecting herself to just grab a throw blanket and toss it over you. but the thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth. so she heads for the living room instead, one hand reaching out toward the wall to keep herself steady in the darkness.

karina pauses by the couch, peering at you. you're still asleep, one arm now tucked behind your head. she knows that if she wakes you up and tells you to leave, you will. if she says anything to you at all, really, you will.

so, karina doesn't bother with pretense.

"hey," she says softly, standing over you. "wake up."

you blink, squinting. "what..."

she crosses her arms. "you're not sleeping out here."

you make a noise—something between a yawn and a groan—and start to sit up. "sorry. i didn't mean to—"

karina cuts you off, picking up clementine from your lap and stepping to the side. you push yourself upright, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and mumbling another apology.

karina shakes her head, already turning toward the hallway. "c'mon."

you blink after her, still groggy. "huh?"

she looks at you like it was obvious. "to the room," she says, motioning for you to follow her.

the way she says it makes you wonder if maybe there's some double meaning that's getting lost between your brain and her words. you blink, feeling suddenly awake and nervous all at once.

but karina doesn't give you time to think about it, because she's already disappearing into her bedroom.

it's dark.

when she doesn't hear any footsteps, she flicks the lights on, illuminating her bedroom. a single bed rests against the wall, and a small dresser is pressed against the opposite wall.

"there's not really another room, or else i'd just give it to you, but...well," she says, setting clementine onto the bed, the black cat instantly curling up, as if making herself right at home.

she looks at you, and it's the first time tonight where she really seems to be considering the situation. you feel weird. you know you should say thanks or offer her some sort of gratitude, but all the words seem stuck in your throat.

"well," karina sighs, putting her hands on her hips. "you gonna stand there or...?"

"no, sorry," you quickly say, glancing at the floor before looking up and meeting her gaze, her eyes seemingly more relaxed than before. you let out a breath of relief, nodding.

"i, uh. thanks." you offer, the word seeming pathetic, even to you, but her expression stays the same.

she waves her hand in dismissal, then turns, pulling back the covers and slipping under them without looking at you.

you slip in beside her, and she reaches up, hitting the light.

she turns slowly, eyes half-lidded. her voice is quiet. "you're so quiet. what? worried we won't fit?"

you let out a small snort. "no... it's just." you trail off. her gaze shifts down, landing on your lips.

you lick them.

"i like you."

karina doesn't move for a second. then, a slow blink. "you just met me."

"i know."

she tilts her head just slightly. her voice drops. "you think you really mean that?"

you stare at her for a few seconds and nod. once. slowly. "yeah, i do. you make me feel happy and...alive, and, fuck, i don't know how else to explain it, but—just...yeah."

it's silent. you don't say anything after that, letting the silence engulf the room, but when you can't help but let the question escape your tongue, it feels like everything stops.

"do you like me?" you ask, voice hushed, as if not wanting the walls to hear you.

karina swallows. "look where you are."

and, damn, the way she says that. it sounds like a yes. a huge grin breaks out across your face.

you scoot forward a bit. not enough to touch. just enough that she can feel your presence.

she doesn't look at you. instead, her eyes slide shut, and her lips press together. like she can will away the butterflies in her stomach. like she can stop the heat rising through her chest. like she can stop the smile creeping across her lips.

her heart is pounding, but the warmth of your skin makes her feel safer somehow.

and, honestly, this isn't so bad.

morning comes. the sunlight hits karina's face. but the smell of something buttery and warm is the thing that gets her.

she stretches once, then blinks, her hand patting the bed beside her before her eyes even open. the sheets are cold. empty. clementine's gone too. that's the second thing she notices.

she rolls, head poking up just enough to look toward the window. she squints, pushing the blanket off and shuffling toward the door, hair a little messy, still blinking sleepiness away.

when she turns the corner, she finds you standing at the stove, barefoot in yesterday's hoodie, one hand balancing a plate while the other flips something onto it with practiced ease.

you don't hear her at first, too focused on plating.

you're humming something under your breath, probably not even aware you were doing it. karina watches. she sees you reaching into a cupboard for plates and hears the clatter of metal on tile, and the way you don't seem fazed by the noise makes her feel a certain kind of warmth that's impossible to describe.

"you can cook?" she asks, sounding almost skeptical.

your eyes flicker over.

you shrug. "bacon and eggs aren't exactly difficult, but sure."

a laugh. "is that an insult?"

"wouldn't dare."

she smirks.

you walk over, balancing the plate in one hand and holding it out. it's a breakfast sandwich—eggs, bacon, cheese, the works. karina takes it with a blink, clearly surprised, but says nothing.

you head back to the counter, grabbing your own plate, and then do the unthinkable: you plop down next to clementine on the rug, cross-legged, watching her eat her own meal.

karina stands there for a second. looks at the table. looks at you.

then sighs and joins you on the floor, sandwich in hand.

"i have a whole table."

you grin. she rolls her eyes.

you swallow the bite and wipe your mouth. you didn't think this morning would feel this casual, or that karina would be eating beside you, but you can't say you mind.

"i hope you don't mind the eggs," you add.

she looks up at you from the sandwich. "why would i mind?"

"not many people like eggs over hard. even less like over easy."

"over hard?"

you point to her plate with your finger. "cheese melted. yolks still kinda hard."

"you cooked it over hard? what the hell is wrong with you?"

"excuse me," you scoff. "it's a delicacy. don't pretend like you don't like a good over hard."

she tries to look offended, but a chuckle leaves her throat. "i think you're crazy."

"you're the one sitting on the ground with me," you quip. "just eat it, you won't care after a couple of bites."

karina stares at you. blinks. takes a bite. chews. she looks up, swallowing. "oh."

"good, right?" you smile, leaning slightly into her shoulder. she hums. but doesn't shrug you off.

it's quiet for a beat. karina's still picking at her breakfast, and you've finished yours already, leaning your weight onto the palm of your hands, clementine curled into your side.

"i leave tomorrow. to italy." you say suddenly, your head turned, watching her carefully.

she nods. she doesn't seem bothered, not at all. her lips press together, then purse a bit, then curve upward. "good. you're being too nice."

"really? i'm too nice?" you mutter.

she pauses, setting the sandwich back on the plate. she's thinking. you can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. "yeah." she smiles, just a little. "yeah. this was nice. you're nice."

"just nice?" you grin, feeling the relief seep out of every pore in your body, making you a bit lighter, a bit happier than you were seconds ago.

karina raises a brow, picking up her food again. "you looking for a review, hotshot?"

"always. gotta build up my rating."

a soft laugh leaves her throat. she takes a bite. shrugs. swallows. then looks you dead in the eyes and says, "two out of five stars."

"that's a shit rating."

"what can i say?" her tone is nonchalant. "the egg was overcooked, and the chef had terrible manners."

you roll your eyes and push yourself to your feet, swiping her now empty plate from her grasp. "so rude."

karina gives a long-suffering sigh, pressing the pads of her fingers together. she's not quite smiling, but her dimple gives her away.

you put the plates into the sink, already turning to wash them, but your phone is buzzing in your back pocket. you slide it out, your body tensing and lips thinning out at the screen.

karina glances sideways at your sudden stillness.

you swipe to answer and bring the phone to your ear.

"hello?"

"don't 'hello' me," your manager snaps, his voice crackling through the speaker. "you think i wouldn't hear about you participating in a street race? are you out of your mind? you're under contract, you—"

you take a deep breath, ignoring the heat in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your jaw. you don't bother asking him how he knew. there were cameras everywhere, and you weren't exactly low-key. this was inevitable. you're not naive.

"sorry. won't happen again."

he doesn't even acknowledge it, just barrels ahead. "you're supposed to be resting. not doing... whatever the fuck this is. if you got caught, you'd be suspended. what the hell were you thinking?"

"nothing," you snap, then pinch the bridge of your nose.

the room feels heavy. your heart sinks, and when you glance up at karina, she's staring back at you. she knows, just by the way your body is shifting and the frustration on your face, that something is wrong.

"i wasn't thinking," you mutter. "it just happened."

"jesus. you're not in some underground film; you're a professional racer. this isn't how champions act."

you want to throw the phone across the room.

"okay," you bite.

"okay?" he sputters, taken aback by your short response.

"okay."

silence.

"well," he mutters. "fine."

there's a click. you hang up.

for a few seconds, all you do is breathe. the water keeps running in the background. your chest aches, the air seeming a bit more difficult to drag in.

you hear the sound of wood creaking and footsteps behind you. and then, karina.

she places a hand on your shoulder. light. reassuring.

"everything alright?"

you shake your head. you're too exhausted to lie. she nods, her other hand finding yours and slipping her fingers between yours. she squeezes gently.

"wanna go for a drive?"

you shake your head. "i should probably prepare. leaving tomorrow."

her gaze meets yours. a bit worried but not pitying. "okay." she doesn't ask anything else. doesn't expect more than what you give her.

when you make your way to her door after fifteen minutes of small talk and exchanging numbers (after you had to slightly beg), you step out into the hallway of the apartment building and pause.

"guess this is me actually leaving," you say with a half-smile, trying to keep it light.

she hums. "guess so."

it's a few moments later, both of you not moving, until karina tilts her head a little, a slight frown pulling on her mouth.

"call me after, okay?" she says. it's a question, but the tone of her voice makes it clear there's not an option.

you let a small, relieved exhale out through your nostrils. you stare for a bit, smile widening. "okay... can i get a kiss goodbye?" you ask, tilting your head, trying to sound casual about it—even though you're 80% joking and 20% hoping she surprises you.

karina doesn't miss a beat.

she steps forward like she might close the distance—like maybe she's thinking about it—and then with a grin that's way too smug for this early in the morning, she reaches around you... and pulls the door closed.

"bye, hotshot," she says sweetly before gently shutting the door in your face.

you blink, stunned.

following that, you snort and knock on the door three times, earning a huffed chuckle.

"tease," you say.

"bye!" she sings through the door.

jeno insisted on you coming over to his for breakfast before your flight. even though he doordashed the breakfast ten minutes before you arrived, it still feels very him. he's one of the only people you trust with everything, even the most boring or trivial things. you can tell him absolutely everything, and it wouldn't be awkward. he's just a really good person like that.

you're sitting cross-legged on his couch with a mouthful of waffles, scrolling aimlessly through your phone while something plays low on the tv—some racing rerun neither of you are actually watching.

"dude," jeno says around a mouthful of food, "you know you have an international flight in, like, five hours, right?"

you glance at the clock on your phone. 9:42 am. your flight's not till two, but he's not wrong. "yeah," you mutter, chewing. "i know."

he raises a brow. "so why do you look like you're about to fall asleep right here?"

you shrug. "didn't really sleep."

he hums. "because of the race?"

you pause. trying to come up with a lie. then, with a sigh, admit the truth. "yeah. i guess. maybe. a bit."

he chuckles, his shoulders lifting just a fraction as the corners of his mouth tilt upward. it's quiet for a beat, the sound of chewing filling the space.

then he shifts, setting his plate on the table, and clears his throat. "is that all, or...should i assume it has something to do with karina?"

you freeze, the last of your waffle halfway to your lips, eyes snapping up to meet his.

he grins, already looking way too satisfied.

you sigh, dropping the fork and slumping back against the cushions, shoving the phone in your pocket. "it's not—i don't...how the hell did you even know?"

his eyebrows shoot up. he blinks at you. once. twice. three times.

"we share locations. you've been out and about... without me. me! for two days. so, i have a couple of guesses. first, and this is a stretch, but it's not outside the realm of possibility—" he takes a dramatic breath. "you finally got some."

you scoff.

"nailed it!" he crows.

you glare. "wrong."

"c'mon, i'm never wrong." he shoves his arm into your chest, teasing and lighthearted. "but fine, second guess? she took you for a drive in that silvia we both love so much, and you got all heart-eyed, and now you're missing her. i've seen this play out before."

your glare wavers, but you refuse to smile, giving him an exaggerated eyeroll. "if i wanted advice, i'd call jaemin."

he presses his hands to his chest. "that's fair," he muses. then, softer, he leans his shoulder against yours, head tilted. "you're nervous. that's fine. but it'll work out, or it won't, and you'll survive either way."

"easy for you to say. you're in an eight-year relationship. this isn't the same."

he chuckles. "why not?"

"because!" you sigh. "because i just met her and already feel like—" you shake your head, suddenly irritated and overwhelmed, and drop your plate onto the coffee table.

jeno is patient, but you can see him grinning at your reaction.

"like what?" he pushes, nudging you with his foot.

"like..." you trail off.

he gives you a minute. then two. then three. and then the words are spilling from your mouth without warning, "i like her."

jeno laughs. soft, sweet.

"good. keep it that way."

you groan, pulling the collar of your hoodie up over your face, wanting the warmth of it to melt you into the couch. "this is awful," you groan, voice muffled by the fabric.

...

"can i borrow your car?"

his head whips toward you. "no."

you blink. "what?! why?"

"i'm not letting you use my baby just to go on a goodbye tour."

you sit up a little straighter. "i'm not joyriding. i just—" you hesitate. "i want to see her before i leave. one more time."

jeno stares at you for a second, expression unreadable, before he sighs and grabs the keys off the counter. he dangles them in front of you.

"if she scratches my bumper with her tight-ass driveway, i'm billing you."

you grin and take them. "you're the best."

"yeah, yeah," he mutters. "just don't do anything gross in my seats."

you park a block away, just like last time. when you climb out of the car, you stand and take a second to appreciate the neighborhood. you didn't get to really pay attention before.

it's not as fancy as you'd thought. most of the buildings look a little worse for wear. paint's chipped, tiles are cracked. some of the grass looks dead, or hasn't been mowed in a few days. but you still can't help smiling as you pass the kids playing hopscotch. it's charming. quaint. homey.

you shoot her a text.

you you up? come outside

it only takes a minute. you can feel the phone buzzing against your palm, and when you glance up, karina's stepping onto the sidewalk.

she doesn't say anything. she doesn't wave or

run up and hug you. just waits until you're standing across from each other, breathing in the morning air and pretending like it isn't the strangest goodbye you've ever had.

you rub the back of your neck. "so..."

her lips twitch. "you gonna tell me why you're here, or do i have to guess?"

a small laugh leaves your throat, and you try to think of the right words. you'd spent the whole walk over practicing in your head. now that the moment's here, they seem to have vanished.

"just...wanted to say thanks."

karina tilts her head, curiosity flitting across her features.

"thanks for letting me in, for making me feel less shitty. and for taking me on a ride that made my top ten favorites list." you give a shrug. it's a dumb gesture. not enough, somehow. but it's all you can come up with.

the corners of her mouth curl up into a half-smile. you can't figure out how you're managing to stay so cool and collected right now, but the thought makes something warm flare up in the pit of your stomach.

"not bad for a beginner," she teases.

you snort, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jeans and rocking slightly. you look around.

karina walks over to the car with her sweats and a cropped tee, hair tied half up, expression unreadable except for the faintest tug at the corner of her lips. she hops up onto the hood of jeno's car, stretching her legs and leaning back, elbows resting on the metal.

you turn to face her fully. "really, though. i needed a good distraction and a good drive, and you gave me both."

her eyes drift closed. she breathes in and out. you stare. the sun shines on her eyelids, and you notice how soft they are. how peaceful she looks.

when her eyes open, you almost gasp. the way she's looking at you now. it's different than before. her gaze has an intensity behind it, an urgency, like there's something else she wants to say, and she's holding back.

but after a second, she glances off and pulls a strand of hair loose, wrapping it around her finger.

"stop being sappy," she murmurs, pushing off the hood. "i'm sure italy has a million good drivers."

you shake your head. "nah, no one could top you."

"you seriously wore the hat?" she asks, legs swinging slightly as she looks you up and down, grinning.

you lift your brows. "it's my hat."

she giggles. "you're such a dork."

you shrug. "it's my last day before italy. i'm allowed to be sentimental."

"what times your flight?"

"two," you say, watching her carefully.

she nods, slow. "that's why you're here."

"partly," you admit. "jeno's taking me to the airport, so i've got time. figured if i left without seeing you again, i'd regret it."

her face softens, just for a second. she looks away before it stays too long.

"you gonna win?" she asks, nudging you with her elbow.

"i'm gonna try."

and subsequently, without saying anything, you reach up, pull the cap off your head, and gently place it on her own. she stares at you like she's never seen someone this weird.

"so, um...i have something to ask."

"oh?" she looks up at you, an eyebrow arching slightly, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

"um, well…" you trail off. there's not a doubt in your mind about how ridiculous you must seem right now, stumbling over your words while trying not to freak out.

"well...?" she prods.

"fuck."

she laughs, and the sound is sweet and real. "god, just ask."

your cheeks are on fire. this is awful. why did you think this was a good idea? "fine! umm...i want you to come to my race."

"you think i'd actually fly out just to watch you show off?"

"yeah. because you're a competitive little shit and love the sport as much as i do. don't try to deny it; you love cars just as much as any other racing enthusiast. plus," you add, feeling braver, "i just gave you my good luck hat, so if you don't show up wearing it, i'll probably lose. just come, please."

her eyes flit between yours.

there's a beat.

and then, "you're a weirdo, you know that, right?"

"but?" you grin, already knowing where she's going.

"but..." she trails off. smirks. "i'll see what i can do."

her smirk lingers like she's got one more sarcastic jab lined up—but it never comes. you're close now. closer than you should be with someone you've only known for a couple of days, but it doesn't feel wrong.

it feels inevitable.

you look at her. her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her eyeliner is messy, and her dimples are showing. it hits you suddenly how pretty she is. how lucky you are to have found her, even by chance.

you don't think before leaning in. your arms slide around her waist, and your nose brushes hers. and, god, when her lips touch yours, everything seems to stop.

the world fades away, and you're in some kind of trance, caught up in her, not thinking, not breathing. you're moving slowly, but the heat of her is overwhelming.

and then you kiss her.

her lips are soft. warm. her breath is minty from the tea she's drinking, and her tongue tastes like strawberries. she lets out a muffled groan when your hand finds her jaw, cupping it and tilting her head a bit. her skin is smooth. it makes your pulse spike and your knees go weak.

you've never wanted anything more than her.

not now. maybe not ever.

"go." she murmurs.

you lean back, staring into her eyes. she's a bit dazed, but regardless, her gaze is sharp and steady.

"what?"

"go before you start getting clingy." she mumbles, smiling, hopping off the hood, hands on your hips as she gives you one final quick kiss.

you can't help the smile on your face, feeling slightly lightheaded, and press a small kiss onto her cheek before sliding into the car and turning on the ignition, waving to karina as you pull off the curb.

she's still there when you reach the end of the street, arms folded, watching as you turn and drive off, disappearing from her vision.

"goddammit, hotshot."

[pupsmailbox]

SCENE︰EMO ID PACK

NAMES︰ acid. adder. adrian. aisling. alex. alice. alix. amethyst. annabelle. aqua. ash. ashlee. ashley. aspen. astley. avril. awe. axe. ayesha. bates. bell. bella. belladonna. bellatrix. billy. blade. blair. blitz. bloodie. bloodscene. blythe. bow. bree. butterfly. callie. candi. candy. celeste. chase. checkerz. clarity. click. coraline. couture. crow. cyril. cyrus. dakota. demi. demonia. devin. dino. dizzy. doge. dom. dominic. ebony. electra. elliot. emery. emmett. emo. epic. erin. evan. flash. fred. galaxy. gavin. gerard. ghostie. gif. gloom. gray. grayson. grim. gutz. happy. havoc. hazel. heyley. hunter. hyde. indigo. ink. iris. ivory. ivy. jack. jade. jason. jasper. jax. jeff. jet. jett. julie. kai kandi. kandiz. kat. kayden. killer. kit. kitt. kobi. kyler. lady. lapis. lee. lexie. liam. luna. lurk. lynx. lyric. lyxzen. mace. maddox. madeline. mae. malice. marceline. marcie. mars. mavis. meow. mia. midnight. mika. mill. nana. neo. net. nick. nina. noah. noob. nora. nyan. nyx. obscene. octavia. olivia. onix. onyx. opal. orange. orchid. pearl. phantom. phoenix. pierce, pierce. pitch. pixie. pop. punk. pusheen. rain. rainbow. raine. rainer. rave. raven. raver. rawr. razorz. reaper. ripley. river. rogue. ronnie. rose. rouge. roux. rubi. ruby ruby. sable. salem. sally. sapphire. sash. sasha. scythe. silvi. silvia. smiley. smoke. smokey. snap. snow. sonya. soot. sparrow. spike. splatter. spook. stella. steve. stripe. sunny. suzi. suzie. suzy. taffi. taffy. tag. tech. tempest. travis. trend. tyler. vesper. vine. vista. vivi. waffle. wave. web. wentz. wesley. wild. willow. wound. xander. z!m. zach. zack. zade. zaire. zak. zander. zara. zero. ziggy. zim. zircon. zoe. zoom. zyair.

PRONOUNS︰ awesome/awesome. ay/aym. bark/bark. bi/bim. bite/bite. black/black. bling/blingee. blood/blood. bone/bone. bow/bow. brace/bracelet. bright/bright. bright/colour. byte/byte. cat/cat. cata/catatonic. ce/cer. check/checkered. chem/chem. cir/circut. color/color. computer/computer. cool/cool. cos/cos. creepy/pasta. cringe/cringe. cry/cry. cut/cut. dead/dead. death/death. die/die. dino/dino. emo/emo. emoticon/emoticon. epic/epic. ev/ev. exe/exe. ey/em. eye/strain. fang/fang. fringe/fringe. game/game. gamer/gamer. ghost/ghost. gir/gir. girr/girr. glit/glitter. glitter/glitter. gloom/gloom. glow/glow. glow/stick. gore/gore. grr/grr. gun/gun. gut/gut. hor/horror. hx/hxm. hyper/hyper. hyperpop/hyperpop. internet/internet. it/it. ix/ix. kan/kandi. kand/kandi. kandi/kandi. kill/kill. kit/kit. knife/knife. lix/lix. loud/loud. luv/luv. mask/mask. meme/meme. meow/meow. mew/mew. mlp/mlp. mon/monster. mspaint/mspaint. music/music. neo/neon. neon/neon. net/net. nostalgia/nostalgia. nya/nya. nya/nyan. nyan/cat. old/old. online/online. pika/pikachu. pix/pix. pixel/pixel. plur/plur. pony/pony. pop/pop. pop/tart. queen/queen. quiet/quiet. rain/rain. rainbow/rainbow. random/random. rave/rave. rawr/rawr. raz/razor. red/red. rei/reina. scene/scene. scene/scenester. scenecore/scenecore. scream/scream. shx/hxr. si/silent. silly/silly. skull/skull. slash/slash. slice/slice. sound/sound. spi/spider. spook/spook. stab/stab. stick/sticker. sticker/sticker. stud/stud. swag/swags/swagself. thxy/thxm. troll/troll. tutu/tutu. txt/txt. vamp/vamp. video/game. virtual/virtual. vocaloid/vocaloid. web/web. windows/window. xe/xem. xey/xem. xy/xyr. youtube/youtube. ze/zem. ze/zer. ze/zero. zi/zim. zim/zim. zom/zombie. zomb/zomb.

[oficmag]

Issue #13 submissions are OPEN!

We are accepting submissions for Issue #13 until 11:59pm EST on August 17, 2025. Issue #13 will be published on October 1, 2025.

Send us your dead doves, your blorbos, your plinkos, your wretched meow meows yearning to be free; that thing you wrote that made you think, “I don’t know where this belongs”; the stuff you’d never show anyone you know IRL. Give us your shameless, self-indulgent smut; the manuscript to the video essay you dictated to your YouTube subscribers in your head; your thoughtful explorations of trauma and identity; your Pepe Silvia wall; your sci-fi, your fantasy, your romance, your realism. We want anything and everything. As long as you identify as a fan, we want to read your work.

We are currently looking for:

Short fiction (only 1 piece at a time, max 12k words; if flash [under 1k], you may submit up to 5 pieces in one document)

Nonfiction (personal essays, articles, or meta, max 12k words)

Check out our MSWL!

Special Announcement: Issue #13 will be the last issue going to print. Starting in 2026, all issues will be published digitally. We have been so fortunate to print physical issues for the last ~4 years, and we thank all of your for the unwavering support that made it happen. <3

SUBMIT TO ISSUE #13 HERE! (fee waived)

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[kikiutau]

RYOMEN SUKUNA: How to Get With Your Boss! Sukuna’s POV (Part 1)

CEO!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Genre: Modern au, Office Romance, 18+, Smut, Fluff Content/TW: cheating, angst, smut, hate sex, rough sex, slight misogyny, degradation, dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation, spanking, manhandling, masturbating, unholy thoughts Word Count: 6.6k

Author’s Note I recommend reading the main story before this one! Divider by @/cafekitsune Series Masterlist

Wednesday, December 25

The clicking of dress shoes echoed sharply through the silent, cold halls of the corporate building walls. There was a weight in the air that followed him—an unspoken pressure, a steady rhythm of authority that seemed to resonate against the marble floors and glass panels lining the spacious lobby. 

Those clicks came to a pause as the man arrived at his supposed destination. With a quick click on the elevator button, he adjusted his cuffs, jaw tight. The silver watch on his wrist caught the sterile overhead light, a brief glint of sharpness before it disappeared under the fabric of his suit.

Sukuna exhaled slowly through his nose.

Endless meetings. Endless paperwork. Not to mention the business dinner that had him considering whether gouging his own eyes out with a steak knife would’ve been more productive. 

The clients were absolutely insufferable. So were their snobbish voices and fake laughter. It grated on his ears like nails on a chalkboard. Unfortunately for him, he only escaped after being subjected to such torture five hours later. Still hearing the whirling of the elevator, Sukuna scowled, repeatedly pushing on the elevator button a few more times as if it would make it go any faster. 

News flash— it didn’t. His scowl deepened as the endless whirlwind of thoughts in his mind proceeded to pull out every damn thing that recently went wrong in his life. 

Silvia cheating. 

The fucking divorce.

Sukuna didn’t mind the cheating itself if he was being honest. However, it irritated him to the world’s end when he thought about how annoying Silvia went about it. It was the way she cheated, yet blamed Sukuna for the way things turned out. 

He recalls her incessant cries of “you don’t love me like he does” and “this wasn’t the marriage I wanted.” It was the way her words always seemed to twist and stab at his core, reminding him of his inability to love and his inability to be loved. 

Surely growing up with an absent father and a mother who preferred the fleeting euphoria of those little white pills over the responsibility of motherhood affected his ability to be a good husband. 

If he was truly being honest with himself, then yes. Deep down, Sukuna harbored guilt for the fractured pieces of himself he couldn’t offer to his wife. She had been looking for something he couldn’t give her—something he hadn’t known how to give in the first place. Sure, Sukuna wasn’t the type to write love poems and make grand gestures but he made sure Silvia was well taken care of financially and sexually. And he stayed loyal throughout the entire marriage, respecting Silvia’s position as his wife. Shouldn’t that mean something at the very least?

But it still wasn’t enough.

Sukuna made his expectations clear from the start of their arranged marriage. He told her he wouldn’t love her. Yet the passionate intimacy and soft caresses the two shared, perhaps stirred the longing found in Silvia’s heart. However, such things did not once warm his heart. When it came down to it, he simply saw marriage as a duty. 

Sukuna paused. Perhaps Silvia is right. Perhaps he is a cold-hearted bastard after all. 

Yet, that was something his ego wouldn’t allow him to admit out loud. 

Just as he was about to let his mind spiral once again, the sudden chime of the elevator stopped him mid-thought. He glanced up to see the doors sliding open. 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he stepped forward into the empty space, prepared to get back up into his office so he could spend another restless night buried under paperwork and the lingering aftereffects of his own discontent. He had no intention of dealing with anything—or anyone—tonight.

Just when Sukuna was about to resume his previous thoughts, he noticed the lingering scent of freshly washed bed linen. It was faint. But it was present nonetheless. And it was familiar. 

An image of her face flashed through Sukuna’s mind. He catches the frigid expression on his face twitching in amusement through the reflection of the polished steel doors before reverting back to his previous frown. 

Crap. 

He inwardly groaned, brushing his hair back with his fingers. The strands slowly fell right back into place, aided by the hair gel he routinely applied in the morning. 

When was the last time he thought about that little intern he met all those years ago. Well, no longer an intern. 

But, still little. Sukuna smirked inwardly. 

Suddenly, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, the familiar whirr of the mechanism filling the otherwise quiet space. Sukuna's stomach tightened as he swallowed a groan. Just his fucking luck. 

Silvia.

Before she could step inside, he snapped, his voice low and edged with irritation. “What are you doing here?”

The briefest flicker of surprise crossed her face, before it contorted to one of indignation. “You weren’t home, so I thought—”

“Thought what?” Sukuna cut her off, his tone sharper now, more biting.

Silvia stood frozen in place, her eyes round, as she processed his words. She pressed her lips together, her eyes momentarily fixed on Sukuna as the doors closed with a soft chime. Sukuna could feel the heat of her presence as the doors closed behind her, the space now suddenly charged with an uncomfortable energy. His irritation was palpable, but something about it—something about his usual coldness being replaced with sharp frustration—made a small spark of hope flare up in her chest.

He was angry. He was irritated. But he wasn’t indifferent. She could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the tension in his posture. Silvia drew in a breath, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

“I’m not avoiding you,” Sukuna bit back. Before he could continue, Silvia stepped towards the man, filling the space between them. The sound of breathing filled the suffocating space, with both parties staring at one another with no movement to be found. Somehow the silence was loud, a heavy presence that hung in the air, thick with unspoken words.

Silvia’s heart pounded, the sound filling her ears as she could no longer hear the mechanical whirling of the elevator. Feeling a lack of resistance from Sukuna gave her the boost of courage she needed. Under her breath she murmured, “Can we start over?” 

The words hung in the air like fragile glass. 

Not hearing a response, Silvia continued. “If we have a baby-” 

Almost instinctively, Sukuna’s jaw unclenched, his eyes glazed with indifference, his expression contorting to the poker face he’d perfected over the years. He let the silence stretch for a moment longer before his voice, low and cutting, filled the space between them. “A baby?” His tone was sharp, almost cynical, the weight of the suggestion crushing the air between them.

Silvia, sensing his retreat, pushed forward anyway. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “A baby could—” She faltered, trying to keep her composure, but the desperation in her eyes was undeniable.

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, his heart hammered in his chest, not from a sense of fear, but from an overwhelming sense of disbelief. With a ding, the elevator jerked slightly as it resumed its descent, adding an unsettling rhythm to the thick silence between them. 

Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from Silvia’s expectant expression. A cold smirk graced his lips as he bent down to her ear, his breath brushing against her skin. He let the silence drag on just long enough for the tension to grow unbearable before he finally spoke, his voice dripping with mockery.

“You want to play house? Go ahead,” he sneered. “But don’t think for a second that I’ll be playing along.” 

Sukuna’s hands appeared on her shoulders, as he shoved her aside. The sharp push was enough to make her stumble back. Hardly caring for her stumble, he strode out the elevator without turning back. 

“YOU ASSHOLE!” 

Sukuna didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder at the enraged woman before responding back with, “If I’m such an asshole, sign the goddamn papers.” 

He didn’t even know where the hell he was headed. This floor was definitely not his office, but no matter. Besides, this whole building was his anyway. Who the hell could stop him from wandering wherever the hell he wanted? 

His pace quickened, but before he could even go anywhere, he felt the impact of heels thrown right at his back. He spun around, eyes narrowing dangerously as he glared at the woman who had thrown the heel.

Silvia stood there, breath coming in quick bursts, her face flushed with fury. Sukuna’s brows furrowed, waiting for her to respond, his patience thin and fraying at the edges. 

Silvia opened her mouth, prepared to argue with him, only for nothing to come out. Her chest heaved as she stared him down, the words caught in her throat like a suffocating weight. Looking at his expression, a wave of panic washed over her. Lips trembling, she muttered, “You know… None of this would happen if you would just…” Her voice cracked, tears building up on the corners of her eyes. 

She looked down at the floor, unable to keep her gaze on her husband. Instinctively, she knew. She knew if she kept staring at his indifferent expression, she couldn’t contain her tears that were threatening to spill. 

If it was any other simple argument between husband and wife, Sukuna would have wordlessly wiped her tears, cradling her in his arms without offering any words of comfort. That was how it used to be—how it should’ve been. But now, as she stood there trembling, he remained motionless.

“Sukuna… You’re so cold-hearted. This wasn’t the marriage I wanted for us.” 

Sukuna watched her, unmoving, his face unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t say a word. Although, that was quickly remedied with his cold jab. “At least I didn’t cheat.” 

Silvia froze, the words slapping her harder than she expected. Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened in shock. Like a released dam, Silvia placed her hand on her chest as if she’d been shot, her voice shaking with utmost hurt and fury. “At least he loves me! With him, I know what love feels like.” She points an accusatory finger at Sukuna. “Unlike you!”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his face twitching with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. “Love you?” He takes a few steps towards the woman. His gaze was cold, cutting through her, as if peeling back every layer of her facade.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, his words like knives. “He has a wife and two children, Silvia. If he loves you, then why hasn’t he left them for you.”

The tears Silvia was trying to hold back finally trickled down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting. She couldn’t give him an answer, because deep down, she knew her husband’s words were true. His words hit her like a bucket of ice water to the head, sharp and cold, shocking her into a painful clarity she wasn’t prepared for.

Unable to deal from the sting of his truth, she threw whatever was left of her dignity, deciding that the crazed frenzy she felt underneath the hurt and broken pieces of her pride was less painful to deal with than the latter.  

Silvia looked up at her husband in all his glory. Even with his disheveled hair and wrinkled button up top, there was an undeniable magnetism about him. Fuck it. 

She could no longer endure the icy grip tightening around her heart caused by the man in front of her. Yet, in the midst of her turmoil, she found a twisted solace in the warmth of the man she despised.

Standing on her toes, she grabbed the collar of Sukuna’s shirt, pulling him downwards as her lips crashed into his. 

She really fucking lost it. Sukuna judged, yet against his better judgement, he didn’t pull away. However, in retaliation, he bit on the bottom of her lips. In response, she gasped out of surprise. 

Sukuna took that chance to slip his tongue into her wet cavern, prodding, poking, teasing her as if this was his way of paying her back for all the humiliation she bestowed upon him. His eyes flickered with cold amusement as she squirmed against him. After a while, Silvia’s hands that were placed on his shoulders, squeezed the muscle, signaling to the man that it was too much. 

Sukuna feigned ignorance, deepening the seal of their kiss by pushing her down onto one of the desks. Just as her back met the table, papers of they-don’t-give-a-fuck flew into the air, some scaterring onto the nearby floor. 

Sukuna’s handsome face twisted into a sneer as he saw the desperate, wonton expression on Silvia’s face. “Already?” he mocked underneath his breath. His fingers caressed Silvia’s wet trembling lips before he slipped them down to the fabric of her dress. 

Without warning, he ripped the fabric exposing Silvia’s bare chest. 

No bra? 

His gaze immediately met Silvia’s pebbling nipples, seemingly at the mercy of the building’s cold AC. He gave a quick flick with a thumb, causing Silvia to arch her back, begging for just more. 

Sukuna wanted to pull away but was stopped by Silvia’s grabby hands, clumsily working on the leftover buttons on his dress shirt. 

So fucking desperate. Amused, he decided to play into what Silvia wanted. With a loud rip, he easily dealt with the only other piece of garment on her body. The wet and now-torn fabric ended up on the floor. 

“T-those were expensive,” Silvia mumbled. Her husband never responded to her comment. 

Silvia whined, closing her legs together, embarrassed at the sudden exposure which earned herself an eye roll from the tattooed man above her. Wordlessly, Sukuna grabbed her by the knees, pulling her legs back apart. He watched the clear, viscous fluid on her inner thighs stretched thinly before breaking apart. 

A wave of numbness washed over him at the sight. It was as if the initial arousal he had been holding onto vanished in an instant, leaving him in an unsettling void. A hollow emptiness consumed him, his thoughts empty. 

A foot at his crotch snaps him out of his trance. His gaze glanced right back up to Silvia’s face, her eyes widening. “You’re—” 

Before she could finish with her sentence, Sukuna roughly spun her around onto her stomach, forcefully bending her top-half down until she felt her pebbled nipples against the cold, hard desk. 

Sukuna knew what she was about to say. 

His cock was fucking soft. 

Whether it was his present lack of arousal or Silvia’s mere presence, Sukuna wasn’t sure which vexed him the most. Instinctively, he redirected his frustration towards Silvia’s poor asscheeks, toying with them as if they were his stress toy. Seeing the slight recoil, Sukuna let out a forced chuckle at the sight. 

Despite the onslaught of pain, Silvia let out unabashed moans whether it was because of pain or pleasure. She didn’t want to admit it but while performing marital duties (many many times) with her damned husband, he was able to slowly mold her body into one that accepts pleasure and pain as one— two contrasting feelings twisted into a singular pleasurable anomaly. 

Although, never would she admit that Sukuna thoroughly ruined her for any other man. And never will she ever admit, even to her death, that she had to fake her orgasms with Mr. Nakamura. She kept telling herself that sex didn’t really matter. After all, Sukuna in spite of his great aptitude in bed, could never sing the sweet promises of everlasting love and praises. What use were sky-high condominiums, expensive jewelry, and dinners at three-star Michelin restaurants when the man she married stayed indifferent to her confessions of love and sweet caresses even after years of marriage. 

At some point, Sukuna’s spankings became too much for Silvia to handle. Mind a mess, unable to voice her thoughts, the only thing she could do is to wiggle her hips away. Although, it didn’t do much as her relentless husband kept her in place with a hand on her lower waist. 

Seeing signs of disobedience, Sukuna responded with a spank on her bare pussy. 

“Ah!” Silvia cried out. 

The displeasure Sukuna felt from Silvia’s little act of defiance practically added additional fuel to the fiery pits of his temper. His jaw tensed, and a dangerous gleam flickered in his eyes—a warning, sharp and unmistakable. “You know,” he bent down to her ear, “I should really punish you for being such a disobedient little slut, whoring yourself out like that.”

Ouch. 

Too wonton and horny to care about the degrading comments her husband just made, Silvia pushed her buttocks towards the direction of Sukuna’s bulge, just begging— pleading— for more now that Sukuna stopped with his ministrations. 

Not the type to respond well to taunts, he pinched her abused clit. The sensation was so maddening Silvia, against her will, came all over Sukuna’s rough hands. Yet despite cumming, the man refused to give her any reprieve. 

A mocking laugh echoes within the room, low and venomous, like the hiss of a predator toying with its prey. “I can’t believe you’re getting off on this,” he drawled, his voice laced with cruel amusement. Silvia’s fists clenched, her nails digging into the palm of her hand, her breathing ragged.

Feeling the familiar clench of her pussy, Sukuna pulled away. He glanced down at his dirtied hand: hot wet, and slick with evidence of his wife’s arousal. He toys with the wetness, tapping his pointer and thumb together, watching the way the wet strands stretch every time he pulls them apart. Finding a sick, twisted sense of amusement from this, he finally turned towards Silvia, his expression devoid of warmth. “This is supposed to be a punishment. And you still find pleasure in this?” 

He accompanies this statement with a loud, resounding spank. “I must have trained you really well, haven’t I? I hope Mr. Nakamura enjoyed my cum dump while it lasted.” Silvia whimpered in response. 

Another spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes glared at her reddened ass. “Speak.” 

Mind a mess, Silvia could only stutter out a garbled yes. 

Sukuna let out a little hum, circling around Silvia’s poor, abused clit. New tears pebble among the ruins of her mascara, threatening to spill over like all her other tears. A moan escaped her lips as her eyes closed shut at Sukuna’s unrelenting ministration. The tears she was trying her best to hold in, finally dripped down her cheeks. Instantaneously, she cries out an apology. 

Quite frankly, it was quite a pathetic “I’m sorry.” A whisper barely audible, laced with shame, and yet it hung in the air, desperate and broken. She tries to explain but before she can get a word in, Sukuna interrupts. 

“But even your lover wasn’t enough for you, huh? Here you are, desperate running back to me like a cockdrunk slut,” the tattooed man mocked, his words venomous. “This is a little pathetic, even for you.” 

Silvia turned to look at the man, her reddened eyes meeting his unyielding gaze. Her tears, now cascading down her face, seemed insignificant against the weight of his glare. Yet, despite her tears, laid a love-sick smile on her face. 

He should’ve left it there. He should’ve stopped. Yet, his anger burned too fiercely, too intensely, for him to simply walk away. The bitterness in his chest clawed its way to the surface, urging him to speak—to hurt her in the same way she had hurt him.

Sukuna knew what Silvia wanted. To fuck and make up. To pretend. To wrap everything in a thin layer of gloss and act as if things could go back to normal. As if they could just carry on, as if none of this had happened. She wanted to get a baby too; to weave a new illusion where they could live their lives like some picture-perfect family, hiding the rot beneath a pretty facade.

He almost let out a laugh at the thought. 

A baby was the last thing he wanted. Heck, if he spent another second in that apartment with her, he might as well chop his dick off. 

Silvia expectantly gazed at Sukuna, waiting for the le plat principal of this evening, her gaze unwavering. Sukuna’s eyes searched her face, looking for any sign of remorse, any flicker of regret. But he only found a yearnful, frantic, and downright desperate expression. 

To hell with that baby. 

Reaching towards the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulls out his beloved Caran d'Ache Léman fountain pen. This pen had been a gift from one of the first board members and investors of Sukuna’s company. Coincidentally, that board member was none other than Silvia’s father. It was also the same pen he had used to sign their marriage proposal—an artifact that marked the beginning of something that, now, felt like a cruel play of fate. 

No need for preparation, Sukuna was already moving the rounded tip of his pen towards her gaping slit. Silvia flinched at the sensation before whining her husband’s name, unhappy Sukuna did not fuck her himself.  

Leaning down towards her, almost teasingly, the corners of his lips quipped up. “I’m so sorry sweetheart,” he sarcastically replied. “I thought you wanted more. Was I mistaken?” Feeling his wounded pride swell with glee, he continued moving the pen in and out in slow motions. 

“I– This wasn’t what I meant!” she stammered, her comment earning her a harsh spank. 

“Manners,” Sukuna chided. 

Silvia groaned, burying her face into her arms. Picking her head back up for one last ditch effort, she pleaded once more. “Please please plea– FUCK! Pleaseeee, can you fuck me? I- I can’t get off.” 

So. Fucking. Desperate. 

If only Silvia’s socialite friends could see her like this. If only Silvia’s beloved lover could see her like this. 

What a pathetic sight. 

Bitterness— or was it pettiness— consumed Sukuna. “I don’t need to fuck you for you to get off. You sure found other alternatives during our time apart, didn’t you? I’m certain Mr. Nakamura’s cock was smaller than this pen.”

Sukuna made a point to press the pen further into Silvia’s wet cavern, earning him a violent shudder from the woman underneath him. 

With a bitter edge to his voice, Sukuna murmured. “And yet you went back to him, again and again. So…” 

Heart pounding, Silvia shook her head needlessly. She wanted to refute him but with how overstimulated she felt, she could not even muster a single coherent thought. Sukuna continued on with his ministrations, moving the pen further into her in a downwards motion. “I’m pretty sure you can get off to this.” 

Feeling the slight nudge of the pen towards her g-spot, Silvia unwillingly slips into pure bliss. Blood rushed to her head as she was brought to pure ecstasy. Sukuna sounded out her moans, purely focusing on her pussy fluttering witlessly around his fountain pen. Consumed by momentary pettiness, he slipped his pen out of her, refusing to fuck her through her orgasm. 

Silvia went limp after the shockwaves of her orgasm had subsided. Using the strength that’s left in her arms, she shakily turned around towards her husband. There, he stood with the same indifferent expression she despised. She reached out to him, hoping to continue— this time with his cock. However, much to her dismay, he stopped her. Before she could even say anything, he placed the christened pen into her hands. 

In her hands, the cold, polished surface of the pen felt heavier than she anticipated, its weight a silent reminder of everything that had led them here. The hairs on Silvia’s neck stood on end, the cold atmosphere around her biting at her skin. She wasn’t sure which was colder—Sukuna’s presence or the air conditioning blasting through the room. A sense of dread washed over her. No… It couldn’t be over. Her mouth gaped open, but no sounds came out as she shook her head, desperate to deny the reality setting in.

The silence grew oppressive. She needed him to say something—anything. But Sukuna stood there, his gaze unyielding, as if her plea meant nothing. Sukuna was the first to break the silence, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “My lawyer will come to your residency tomorrow. Make sure to sign the divorce papers by then” he stated. 

Silvia swallowed hard, the lump in her throat rising higher. Her hands clenched around the pen, the coldness of it now feeling like an accusation. Almost robotically, Sukuna made his way towards the elevators, his footsteps becoming more distinct with every step. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, but Sukuna didn’t even pause to look back. He stepped inside without a word, and as the doors slid shut, he was gone—leaving Silvia in the silence that felt so deafening, it swallowed her whole.

Somehow, the ascent of the elevator was slow, almost deliberate. His mind screamed at his poor decision making before he shut it down with a simple: It is what it is. No use dwelling on his poor decision making. 

One would think that his days of reckless frolicking ended when he graduated college and that the wild, impulsive behavior would have faded with maturity. But here he was, tangled in a mess of his own making, still chasing the same hollow thrills, guided by his good-for-nothing cock.

As he walked into his office, the cold, sterile environment did little to comfort him. He sank into the leather chair behind his desk, choosing to stare at the ceiling for a minute or two before going on to put on the extra dress shirt he has stored in his office. Silvia seemed to have broken two buttons during their frenzied one-sided amorous congress. 

Deciding to put off his original plan of going back to work— he doubted he could focus, not when his mind was still tangled with everything that had just transpired. He might as well head back to the apartment he rented out (the one he slept at whenever he would end up bickering with his wife in the middle of the night). 

Sorry. Ex-wife.

At the lobby, Sukuna was greeted with the back of a certain employee he was quite familiar with. It’s been a while, he ponders, wondering what the girl has been up to since their last interaction. 

“Y/n.” 

His low voice cut through the air. He watched her shoulders stiffen slightly before she slowly turned around, her expression unreadable at first. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, Sukuna the subtle mix of caution and something else. Curiosity? Fear? It was hard to pinpoint. 

Her lips parted as if to speak, but she hesitated for just a fraction of a second, clearly trying to find the right words, or perhaps gathering her composure. She ended up smiling at him, although he noticed the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Hello, Mr. Ryomen. Heading home?” She greeted politely. Her voice was steady, almost as if she had mastered the art of keeping her composure in the face of authority like his.

Oh. That’s new.

Since when did he become Mr. Ryomen? A tinge of disappointment crept up under his chest. 

Oh. That’s strange.

The image of a younger y/n flashed through his mind—her in a loose-fitting dress shirt and skirt, an annoyed pout painted on her face as she muttered under her breath, “Nincompoop.” Sukuna’s lips twitched at the memory. 

Sukuna nodded in acknowledgment. “It’s late. I’m surprised you’re still here. I didn’t see you by your desk.” 

Y/n’s smile faltered slightly before reverting back to its polite, controlled expression. She shifted her weight, a subtle sign of discomfort that Sukuna caught in the corner of his eye. “I was occupied in the printer room.”

Sukuna hummed in response, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. A flicker of something stirred inside him—awkwardness, maybe? He cringed inwardly, a strange realization washing over him. It wasn’t just the situation that felt off; it was the shift in the air between them. The teasing, the banter they once shared, didn’t seem appropriate anymore. Like an old shoe that didn’t fit anymore.

Although, he didn’t linger on such feelings any longer than he already did. With practiced ease, he replicated y/n’s composed smile with his own, his expression returning to its usual controlled mask. 

The silence between them stretched just long enough for him to feel the weight of the moment. "It’s late,” he said, breaking the silence. “Let me give you a ride home.” 

Sukuna watched in sick pleasure as y/n’s smile dropped, scrambling to find an excuse. He could see the hesitation flicker in her eyes, the subtle panic rising within her as she fumbled for a response. A part of him reveled in it. A twisted satisfaction. He could almost taste her hesitation in the air. It was a familiar sight. The slight panic in her features, the way her eyes fidgeted from left to right as if seeking a reason to escape this situation... it was— he tries his utmost hardest to keep his smirk at bay— almost too easy. And, as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him enjoyed it more than he should.

“Oh no, it’s okay. Thank you so much for the offer though. I actually live nearby so I’ll be–” 

Before she could finish, the growl of thunder rolled through the night, a low rumble that echoed like a warning. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a teasing smile. He could already tell where this was going.

“You’re going to walk home in this weather?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

Y/n let out a defeated sigh. “I suppose not,” she nervously chuckled. 

Sukuna’s gaze softened for a brief moment, though his lips remained slightly curled in a knowing smile. “Right. I figured as much.” 

Perhaps this is the only time when he hopes for traffic. 

Sukuna found himself unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the girl sitting beside him. She sat to his right, her hands tightly clenching the seat belt as she looked out the passenger window. Surely he could sense her discomfort, but that only made the moment all the more entertaining for him. 

What an asshole, he chastised himself inwardly. But then again, if not an asshole, then who would I be? 

Sukuna let out a breath, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. He stared at y/n once again. 

You’re not going to start talking to me again? Sukuna wanted to ask. Guess silence is your thing now, huh? He wanted to tease. 

He waited and waited. Yet, there was no response. The silence stretched, thickening between them like a tangible wall. It wasn't awkward—at least, not for him.

Ah, fuck it. 

“It seems a lot of people are trying to head back to their families for Christmas.” Sukuna finally broke the silence, his tone flat at best. 

Y/n slightly flinched at his sudden comment before humming in response. Unfortunately for Sukuna, it ended there. No comment. No follow-up question. No elaboration. Nothing. 

For a brief moment, he entertained his previous thought about being an asshole. Perhaps then y/n would at least take a glance at him. Fuck, he felt more pathetic sitting here than he did fucking his goddamn wife— to-be ex-wife. 

Sukuna huffed, his gaze flicking over to her. Instead of teasing her further, he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, burning holes into the back of her head. 

Meeting her gaze in the reflection of the passenger side window, he smirked, unable to completely suppress the satisfaction that bloomed in his chest at seeing her, even in the reflection, trying to avoid meeting his eyes.

You think you’re the only one who can play this game, huh?

He could feel her stiffening just slightly, like she sensed his eyes on her, even if she didn’t dare acknowledge it directly. He couldn’t resist a little push.

“Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite employee?” he drawled, emphasizing the favorite.  

A look of surprise washed over y/n’s face, but it was fleeting. It was replaced by a teasing smile gracing her lips. “Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite boss?” she quipped back.

Sukuna’s lips twitched in amusement, before erupting into a laugh.“I’m your only boss, princess.”

Y/n shrugged. “Still stands.” 

Sukuna took the subtle jab as a minor loss in their exchange, but oddly enough, it was a loss he doesn’t seem to mind losing. He then seamlessly moved onto the next topic, his eyes glinting with mischief as he decided to pry a little deeper, using the opportunity to poke into her private life. 

It was completely inappropriate as a boss. He knows. But then again, he is a certified asshole, and when have normal conventions stopped him before?

Sukuna leaned slightly forward, his smirk never wavering as he regarded y/n. “You got any plans for Christmas? You must be looking forward to spending time with your family and friends.” 

“Ah, well. They’re all overseas. So, I probably won’t be seeing them this year. The plane tickets are horrendously expensive this time of year.”

Oh? Perfect segway. 

“At least you have that boyfriend of yours from the sales department,” Sukuna said, his words deliberately casual, though there was a challenge in his tone as he remains relentless in his probing. 

Y/n’s eyes widened, staring at the man in disbelief. “Pardon?” A flush of red painted her cheeks as she shook her head, her words tripping over themselves in a sudden rush. “I-uh. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, more amused than ever. Oh, so that’s it. He could see the slight pink hue of her cheeks, the unease in her posture, and the way she quickly dismissed the notion.

A part of him wanted to keep pushing, to pry deeper. Sukuna felt a familiar spark of mischief flare up, his mind already mapping out ways to continue the interrogation. But as he considered it, a thought stopped him, if only for a moment. Maybe... Maybe not today.

But then again, there’s no harm in teasing her a little right? 

Sukuna flashed Y/n his signature smirk, leaning back casually in his seat, his eyes glinting with the same amusement that had been there all night. “Good to know,” he drawled, his tone a little lighter than before but still holding that edge of playful mockery.

An annoyed pout graced her lips. “Mr. Ryomen!” 

Now that’s a familiar sight. 

Sukuna leaned back into the seat, letting out a deep laugh that echoed in the quiet confines of the car. Alright, it seems he had his fill of teasing. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing you,” he resigns. Sukuna, almost entranced, watched as y/n subtly bit her lip, clearly trying to maintain her composure. 

Instantaneously, his cock has taken the reins of his brain as he wonders about pressing his lips against hers, his mouth nibbling her bottom lip, his tongue entwining against her. He imagines her mouth wrapped around his cock, her eyes looking up at him as he moves strands of her hair away from her face. 

He takes a sharp inhale, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Without thinking, he reaches one of his hands towards y/n’s face, gently tucking that one stray strand behind her ear. The moment his fingers make contact with her skin, a strange, unexpected tension fills the air.

Sukuna looks away for the sake of his throbbing length, unable to look at the expression on her face lest he ends up ejaculating in his pants. Thankfully, the traffic in front starts to clear up, giving Sukuna an excuse to focus on driving instead. 

If Sukuna had to be honest, the rest of the car ride was a blur. After he dropped y/n off, he sped towards his rented apartment— almost on the verge of getting a speeding ticket on his way back. 

Fumbling with his keys, he rushed into his apartment, not even bothering to take off his shoes. The door slammed behind him, and he immediately dropped his keys onto the floor. He practically threw himself into the shower, with clothes still on, water ice cold. 

Fucking hell.

Not even the cold shower raining down on him could calm the searing fever inside of him.

He fumbled with his belt, taking out his twitching cock. Flushed, throbbing, and fucking needy. Absolutely begging for stimulation. And right now, it was the fucking bane of his existence. 

One of his hands fisted the wall in front of him as the other rigorously pumped his length, forgoing the usual teasing and edging he might indulge in from time to time. Sukuna exhaled sharply at the sensation, feeling so close to release. 

Y/n.

Y/n.

Y/n.

Y/n. 

What does she sound like? Is she a moaner? Screamer? Or does she bite those tantalizing lips of hers, muffling her moans. His imagination runs wild, visualizing y/n in a multitude of positions. Doggy style. Cowboy. Missionary. Prone bone. Full nelson.

Fuck. Now wouldn’t that be a sight to behold? 

Up until his very last moments before releasing, he recalls her voice—

“Mr. Ryomen.”

Just like that he came with a hoarse groan, milky remnants releasing from the slit of his bulbous head, dripping down his veiny hands, pooling right down the drain. 

His release was like a dam bursting, releasing the flood of feelings he had locked away years ago when he got married. Tinnitus rang in his ears and within that euphoric high, his disorientated self could almost hear y/n’s voice, light and carefree, as if he could feel her presence right next to his. 

In his hazy post-nut clarity, he chastises himself for the thousandth time. He doesn’t hate how easily she invades his thoughts. However, what he hates—despises— is the little bits and pieces of composure he keeps losing to her. He wanted her to be his so badly he could almost subject himself to abstinence if it meant getting to taste her. Feel her. Lick her. Just once. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to ground himself. Focusing on the pitter-patters of the shower head to the sounds of his heavy breathing, he looked down at his cock— still hard.

It hurts. But it hurts so good. 

Sukuna let out a defeated groan, his forehead resting against his bathroom titles. The coolness of the ceramic offered little relief against the burning frustration that gnawed at him. 

Shit. He was truly fucked. 

a/n: there will be multiple parts//parts will be separated by the different days (i.e. this fic being dec 25th, with pt 2 being dec 26th, and etc)! I’m planning on creating a taglist for those interested. If you are, feel free to comment or dm me :)

also feel free to send me thirsts or comment (im begging) my inbox is looking a little empty 👉🏻👈🏻

[dr-jesuscpr]

"Breathe, Silvia" Part 4

The ambulance skidded to a stop beneath the hospital’s emergency bay lights, tires squealing softly as the rear doors flung open. The paramedics leaped into action, unloading the stretcher with practiced speed. Silvia, still pale and trembling beneath the oxygen mask, was alive but just barely.

“She’s got a pulse, but she’s circling the drain,” the female medic shouted to the ER team rushing toward them. “Oxygen at 15 liters. We need a crash room ready—she coded twice en route!”

Jesus jumped out of the rig behind them, stumbling slightly, his legs like jelly. “I—I’m going with her.” The older medic placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “This is gonna get rough in there. You sure?”

Jesus didn’t hesitate. “I’m not leaving her again.”

The paramedic nodded and waved him forward. “Then stay out of the way and don’t touch anything.”

They rolled Silvia down the hallway at a sprint, the stretcher wheels rattling against the floor, the fluorescent lights overhead flashing across her face like stuttering lightning. The air was heavy with urgency, monitors beeping, nurses barking out vitals, and doctors rushing to clear the path to the trauma bay.

As soon as they entered the resuscitation room, a team of ER staff surrounded Silvia like a pit crew. Her gurney was locked in place as her vitals were rattled off.

“BP’s dropping—she’s hypotensive again!”

“Pulse thready—getting weaker!”

“Push fluids, wide open. Get a second line in. Call respiratory and prep for intubation.”

“Remove everything,” one of the nurses ordered, snapping on fresh gloves.

Jesus stood just inside the doorway, pressed against the wall, his heart in his throat as he watched the team descend around Silvia. They began cutting away the last of her clothes with surgical shears swift, and efficient, The fabric fell in tatters to the floor, leaving her bare beneath the fluorescent lights.

Someone draped a thin sheet over her lower half, but everything else remained exposed. Electrodes were quickly reapplied to her chest, an IV was jammed into her other arm. Her skin was pale, a bluish tinge just beginning to creep around her lips.

Then her body gave a sudden shudder.

The monitor wailed.

“She's coding again!” a nurse shouted.

Jesus’s breath caught. “No—no, not again.”

“Flatline. Full arrest!”

The sheet was removed fully exposing her.

“Start compressions!” The lead Doctor said.

A nurse climbed onto a step stool beside the bed and began chest compressions immediately, her elbows locked, hands positioned firmly over Silvia’s sternum. Silvia’s body jolted under each thrust forceful. Her chest caved rhythmically beneath the medic’s weight, her head bobbing slightly from the movement, arms limp at her sides. Her breasts jiggled from the force.

Another nurse was already prepping the defibrillator. Gel pads were slapped onto her bare chest, the machine charging with a rising, electric whine. "shes in VFIB stand clear"

“Charging to 200 joules. Clear!”

Everyone stepped back.

Jesus froze as Silvia’s back arched violently, her body lifted off the stretcher as the shock surged through her. The sound of the jolt cracked through the room like a whip, and then silence.

"Flatline."

“Go again!” the lead doctor barked. “Start compressions. Epi, now!”

Silvia’s chest was once again crushed beneath the weight of compressions, She was surrounded by people doing everything they could to force her heart back to life—but her body remained unresponsive, pale, fragile.

Jesus couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

But he watched. He had to watch. If she was going to leave this world, he refused to let her do it alone.

A nurse glanced over at him, her eyes softening for a brief moment before she refocused on her task.

The female paramedic who had ridden with them entered the room quietly and stepped beside Jesus.

“They’re doing everything,” she said softly, her voice low. “Don’t lose hope yet.”

Another shock. Another violent jolt. Silvia’s body jumped, then slumped again. Her Breasts glisten with gel and her nipples hard.

The monitor beeped—then flatlined again.

Jesus felt something in his chest crack.

“Come on,” one of the doctors whispered under his breath as he continued compressions pushing down hard on her exposed chest, sweat now dripping down his brow. “Come back, Silvia.”

A nurse leaned over and gently ventilated her lungs with the bag valve mask, the whoosh of air keeping rhythm with the compressions. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.

Then—

A beep.

Faint.

Another.

Then a rhythm.

“She’s got something!” someone cried.

The room froze.

The lead doctor leaned in, eyes on the monitor. “That’s a pulse! Sinus rhythm, weak but regular!”

“She’s back!” the nurse at her side confirmed.

Jesus let out a choked sob, his knees buckling. He grabbed the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his hands shaking, heart pounding.

Silvia lay motionless on the stretcher, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead, her chest now rising on its own, slowly, unevenly. Nurses covered her gently, rechecking lines, and stabilizing her vitals.

A voice called out: “Get ICU on standby. She’s not out of danger yet, but she’s back.”

Jesus could barely hear them. All he could do was watch her—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the slow blink of her eyelids as she stirred, weakly.

He reached out, gently touching her fingers, whispering, “You came back… You came back to me.”

Silvia didn’t speak, but her hand curled—just slightly—around his.

And that was enough.

should she live or die ?

Part 3 https://www.tumblr.com/dr-jesuscpr/780656285326704640/breathe-silvia-part-3

[blorbocedes]

For the prompt game: woke up in the wrong body? Clonecest? German twincest? They get freaky friday'd? Whatever your heart desires

Lewis doesn't actually notice anything’s wrong until Nico says, “Don’t worry, we’ll be good. Right, Lew?” to Toto at the end of the Wednesday debrief, flashing a sunny smile.

Lewis stiffens immediately. Nico hasn't called him that in years. What angle is he playing at here? And since when does he joke around during debriefs? Thinking back, Nico had been bouncing around the garage, peeking at both their cars’ suspensions and chatting animatedly to the engineers, even on Lewis’ side of the garage.

The meeting ends, with Toto and Paddy dispersing the team and Nico hangs around, lingering.

“What was that back there?”

Nico sways, shifting his weight from one heel to the other. “Just being good teammates. Buddies, friends.”

Before Lewis can react, Sebastian Vettel storms in with his Ferrari race suit unzipped at the waist, snapping in rapid German.

Nico looks guilty in a sheepish way, says something back that Lewis can only make out his name from.

What the fuck is going on?

Lewis turns to Seb because he doesn't want to deal with Nico being weird. “Hey, man, you're not supposed to be here.”

Seb grimaces, it looks all wrong on his mouth. And his hair is… styled? Coiffed, almost. Lewis wasn't aware Sebastian owned a brush. Nico, on the other hand, had completely unstyled hair today, bangs falling over his eyes like he air dried after taking a shower; not his usual put together self. Lewis doesn't think about him or his hair routine to wonder why.

“You are right,” Seb says with none of his usual playfulness. His mouth is flattened into a thin line. “Nico, a word?”

“Am I in trouble?” Nico quips. “I barely even looked at the cars! Seriously, might be better for your championship chances if you're not dangling your balls in the pool.”

It's a pretty nonsensical remark, especially from Nico who uses controlled diplomacy as a double edged sword. Sebastian, on the other hand, frowns – eyebrows scrunching and mouth going in an almost perfect displeased scowl. It doesn't suit Seb, but it's a face he’s seen a million times on Nico, has teased out of him, has put it on every time he misses a pole, a win, a podium. The way Nico’s standing, his hair, the way he's carrying himself – it's all wrong.

Lewis grabs Nico by the arm. “You're not –” Lewis doesn't even finish his accusation because it's absurd.

Nico looks at him, surprised, and then breaks into a shit-eating grin, self possessed and cocky. “He really doesn't give you enough credit. He thought you wouldn't notice.”

“I shouldn't have trusted you to act normal.” Is Sebastian’s sullen reply, eyes narrowed and zeroed in on where Lewis is holding Nico’s arm. Lewis lets go, suddenly self-conscious.

He hates this, being talked over like he's not even there. The mechanics are starting to notice from outside that Sebastian Vettel in red in their conference room, as if Silvia’s going to come chasing after him any minute. Lewis’ curiosity wins over the facade of being cool and not cracking in case Sebastian and Nico woke up and decided to become best friends and pull an orchestrated prank on him.

“Will either of you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Lewis, we need to talk. Somewhere private. Your motorhome.” Sebastian’s tone is bossy, standing arms crossed. He doesn't wait, setting off with a determined ease like he knows exactly where it is.

Nico follows suit, adding in a stage whisper, “By that, he means sex.”

[madehellline]

Sooo... i never posted anything in here... it's my first fic after so much time, 'cause i heard the song called "Peligrosa" by Urias and i was like, yep i think i'll try something :) ... i hope you guys like :) English is not my first language, so i beg you pardon for any errors

🏁 Street Racer!Reader x Police Officer!Geto Suguru

Title: “Peligrosa”

The city pulsed like a hot engine at 3AM. Skyscrapers sweated neon and smoke. The asphalt vibrated under her steps — black combat boots, steel soles.

“She’s here.” Someone whispered in the crowd, but no one dared to approach. Everyone knew who she was. (Y/n), queen of the street races. Or, as they called her in illegal betting circles: Peligrosa, for her iconic Brazilian-made car.

Hood down, red lipstick on, she leaned against her ride — a matte black 1975 Chevrolet Chevette with burnt pink accents. Painted by hand, scarred by every race she’d ever won.

The radio hummed a deep, slow beat — sensual, heavy. The same beat echoed inside her chest: heart racing, adrenaline pumping.

— “The road’s mine tonight.” she said, without even glancing at anyone.

— “She’s racing Yuki?” — “They’ve got history.”

(Y/n) smirked. The streetlights caught her eyes like headlights in the dark.

Tonight was for vengeance. Or redemption. Or maybe just another race where the world could end — and she wouldn’t care. After all, she knew the city streets like the back of her hand. And if he showed up again, she’d know exactly how to drive him mad in the chase.

(Y/n) spotted her rival pulling up in her Nissan Silvia. Friends, yes — but rivals tonight. In this underground world, respect was earned with rubber, speed, and risk.

(Y/n) slid into her seat and aligned her Chevette to the starting line. A notification lit up on her phone — the route for tonight’s race. She glanced at it and smiled: tight curves, perfect for drifting. Her specialty. Her obsession. Her pleasure.

She’d built her car for nights like this.

Yuki pulled up beside her, revving hard and cutting the limiter, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

Takuma Ino, brown-haired and sharp-eyed, stepped forward. He waited for the green light from the hackers — the ones hijacking the city’s security cams and police scanners.

The signal came. Time to start.

— “Ready?” — 3... 2... 1... GO!

(Y/n) slammed into first gear. The front wheels lifted off the ground. Her entire body vibrated with the engine's roar. Each gear shift was a hit of dopamine. Each drift, a shot of fire to her veins.

She was alive.

She reached the main road — Shibuya — the legendary curve where Mr. Han from Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift had his “fake death.”

She honked hard. Pedestrians screamed and scattered, mesmerized by the spectacle of her car carving the curve with precision and fire.

But then — the sound.

Sirens.

— “Of course he’s here,” she smiled, almost fondly. — “This is his district, after all.”

Her phone rang.

— “It’s Geto, right?” — “Yeah,” Ino replied. “He’s got backup this time. Guess he’s still mad about the last chase. Be careful.” — “When am I not?” She chuckled. — “Is he alone again?” — “Yup. Ever since your last escape, the white-haired guy doesn’t ride with him anymore.” — “Hmmm… perfect. Might play a little.”

— “Gonna live up to the name Peligrosa?” — “Always.” — “Take care.” — Click.

— “Ok Google, call Yuki.” — Calling Yuki...

— “Geto?” Yuki answered immediately. — “Geto.” — “I’m out,” she laughed. “Good luck with your cop boyfriend.” — Click.

(Y/n) looked to her left. The flashing lights got closer. There he was.

Geto Suguru. Perfect as ever. Brown eyes sharper in the night. Black hair tied back. Uniform fitted, flexing over his arms.

He pulled up beside her in the modified police car — his usual Nissan GTR, only louder. Meaner.

She grinned.

💭 Flashback: Their Last Chase

The night it rained, the city blurred around her.

(Y/n) flew through the narrow tunnel in Meguro. She knew he’d follow. He always did.

She left breadcrumbs. She wanted to be caught.

The GTR’s siren wailed behind her, closer and closer.

She drifted cleanly into an alley between two buildings. Tight. Too tight for him.

But Geto tried anyway. And got stuck.

(Y/n) parked down the block and walked back, smug.

— “Again?” he groaned.

She leaned on the hood of his car, grinning.

— “You should know my style by now, Suguru.”

He climbed out, furious and gorgeous.

— “You think this is funny?” — “No,” she said, stepping closer. “I think you’re funny. Bringing a boat to a knife fight.”

He stared at her — frustration burning, but something deeper flickering underneath.

— “One day, you won’t get away.”

She tilted her head, eyes glinting.

— “Maybe that day isn’t today.”

She turned and ran back to her car, leaving tire smoke and tension in the air.

🚨 Present: The Almost Kiss

Now, in the dark heart of Roppongi, he was right behind her.

She drifted sharply into a hidden side road — no cams, no traffic. He followed.

She slammed the brakes and stopped the Chevette sideways. The GTR skidded into a stop, centimeters from her door.

Both stepped out.

— “What the hell is your problem?!” Geto shouted.

She met his fury with calm fire.

— “Same as yours. We don’t know how to stop.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

— “Should I arrest you now?”

— “Do it,” she whispered. “Cuff me.”

He reached up, hand curling under her jaw.

Breaths shallow. Lips almost touching.

Then—

Crackle. “Officer Geto, backup needed in Shinjuku. Level 3.”

He closed his eyes. Stepped back.

— “One day, you won’t get away.”

(Y/n) leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

— “And one day, you won’t let me go.”

She vanished into the city once again. Leaving him standing under neon light, tasting the memory of her — like smoke, gasoline... and the thrill of almost.

[kurayamineko]

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 8/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

                “I have a friend in Paris, I want you to go there and work in his kitchen.”

                “Why?”

                “You’re too comfortable here. Time to remind you that you never stop learning,” Leandro states and Bradley lets out a slow breath. He’s been here for three years, and he’s learnt so much, and Leandro and Silvia’s hospitality has been amazing. He feels part of their family.

                “I don’t speak French.”

                “It’s okay. You didn’t speak Italian either when you started with me. I will teach you.”

                “You speak French?”

                “Of course. It’s where I trained.”

                “Trained?”

                “I went to Le Cordon Bleu. Now I teach you,” Leandro says, and he rolls his eyes but he’s grinning. Bradley feels like there must be a joke there that he’s missing.

…            …            …

                He’s never spent so much time with a guy he’s not in a relationship with and also having sex with. Spending time with Jake feels so easy, like they’ve somehow skipped ahead over weeks of dating and awkwardness by simply forging ahead with lots of sex and hanging out. They haven’t had deep or meaningful conversations, other than some quite frank discussions around preferences in bed. They’re wonderfully compatible sexually and Bradley hasn’t had as much sex in the last year as he’s had in the last forty-eight hours.

                Jake has gone home, well, to his sister’s house across town, to where he is apparently babysitting his nieces and nephew so that his sister can have a date night with her husband. And also so he can have a night chatting with Vi before her flight home tomorrow. Although chat might be pushing it, because he’s pretty sure Vi is going to have a brain aneurism with all the muttering she’s been doing under her breath. Every time Jake put sauce on something her nostrils flared just a little and he wonders when she got a bigger bee in her bonnet than him about shit like that. She doesn’t even cook.

                “He puts sauce on pickles…” she mutters, and she’s pouring two glasses of wine, so he guesses he’s drinking wine tonight. Clearly because she doesn’t want to drink alone.

                “He does seem to put sauce on everything.”

                “Oh my god…” Vi says, pulling a face.

                “What?”

                “You would normally flip your shit at someone adding sauce to everything and yet… here you are looking like it’s cute. You actually like this guy.”

                “I mean, I don’t like his taste in sauce. But yeah… he’s pretty… uh… great.”

                “Oh my god. Leandro and Silvia are not going to believe it.”

                “How about we don’t share the details of my sex life with them until it’s something more than just sex?”

                “Oh, I’m calling it now. It is definitely more than sex. You wouldn’t be staying if it was just good sex.”

                “What about mind blowingly great sex?”

                “With a guy that adds sauce to everything?”

                “Well, he hasn’t brought it into the bedroom. Yet.”

                He supposes he deserves the punch to the arm.

…            …            …

                Leo is an active rester. That’s the only thing he can take away from watching him be completely unable to just sit. Even after sex he seems to buzz with energy until Jake wrings another orgasm out of him, which had been a delight to learn. Now he’s making more food and he watches as Leo cuts, his hands, fingers and blade flying and it’s mesmerizing, like watching the flicker of flame but instead it’s the flash of a metal blade.

                “Damn you’re good with that…”

                Leo doesn’t stop but he looks up to smile at Jake.

                “The knife is an extension of my arm… just like when you fly. Muscle memory and training.”

                “Huh. You know a lot about flying huh?”

                “Navy brat remember?”

                “Even after you dad died?” Jake asks.

                “Yeah… my godfather stepped up and he helped my mom raise me. So I know all about the military lifestyle. How I was raised.”

                “So your godfather was also an aviator?”

                “Yep,” Leo says, tone clipped and okay, not touching that subject then.

                “So, raised a Navy brat then. Not how you live now, we do not eat this well.”

                “Well, not for lack of trying. I ran away from home when my godfather pulled my papers for USNA. And you put sauce on everything, so it’d all taste the same anyway,” Leo says, winking at him and Jake grins, reaches over and steals a slice of pepper.

                “Wait. You were going to go to USNA?”

                “That was my plan. Instead I got on the first plane out and ended up in Italy.”

                “Holy shit… you kind of brushed over how young you were when you did that.”

                “Yeah. I got very fucking lucky.”

                “Is Violet actually your cousin?”

                “No,” Leo laughs. “Her family pretty much adopted me though.”

                “Huh. Okay.”

                “Here. Try this.”

                Jake obliges, although he’s not quite sure what Leo is hoping to achieve here. Jake hasn’t ever been able to differentiate different flavors, not like some people seem to. He licks the spoon, grinning a little when he sees Leo’s eyes tracking his lips.

                “Could use a little sauce,” he says, just to be an asshole.

                “Don’t be a dick… Come on, I'm trying to make a new dish...”

                “A new dish. Why not just use a recipe?”

                “I wouldn't be much of a chef if I used other people's recipes...”

                “Huh. Okay. You want to have someone that’ll actually talk about the flavors with you? Because I know I’m just going to think everything needs sauce, because I think everything needs sauce. You know who would be really good at this?”

                “Who?”

                “My sister. Well, two of them specifically, but Maria is easiest. She loves all this tasting things over and over stuff.”

                “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

                “Are you saying I have no other redeeming qualities?”

                “Oh, you have plenty of redeeming qualities. Your tastebuds just don’t happen to be one of them.”

                “I’ve got good taste where it’s important…”

                “Smooth, real smooth.”

                “I do alright.”

…            …            …

                “Shit shit shit…”

                “What?”

                “I burnt the rice.”

                “You? You still burn stuff?”

                “Yeah, when there’s a guy in my kitchen naked who decides that fucking me on the dining table is a good decision…”

                “Mmm. Sorry baby. I didn’t think about the food.”

                “Yeah well, the smoke alarm kind of killed the afterglow,” Bradley mutters and Jake snorts against his neck before licking a stripe and he groans again. God. He’s never going to get enough.

…            …            …

                “Hey. I have a favor to ask.”

                “Shovel or money?” Maria asks, clearly distracted by something but Jake is still trying to parse what she’s said.

                “What?”

                “Am I burying a body or am I bailing you out?”

                “Wow. Do you guys have a bet going what will come first?”

                “Yep. So which is it?”

                “Neither actually. Fuck. Maybe this is a terrible idea.”

                “Well, I still don’t know what it is and I’m a little busy so… either piss or get off the pot.”

                God his sisters are all so classy.

                “Do you want to be a taste tester?”

                “What,” Maria asks, and Jake doesn’t hear an inflection, she’s just surprised so he waits. “A taste tester��� for a competition or something? Oh god, don’t tell me you’re trying your hand at cooking again, because you’d have to pay me danger money…”

                “Hey! I can make some things! But, no. Leo is a chef and he’s trying to perfect this dish and I’m as useful as tits on a bull.”

                “You’ve got a guy who can cook as well as everything else? How is this fair?”

                “You ain’t even seen him yet Maria, he’s fucking gorgeous.”

                “You get all the luck, I swear. So what… you want me to eat some of his cooking? Oh my god. Let me guess, he asks you and you just keep on adding fucking sauce to it.”

                “Yeah. It kind of makes his eye twitch a little, but he still lets me do it.”

                “Does he now?”

                “Yeah. His cousin uh… actually. Nevermind.”

                “No no, his cousin what?”

                “Just said… well, she said it in Italian, so I could have gotten it wrong, but…” Jake can’t believe he’s sharing this with his sister. “Just that, uh, the dick must be good?”

                “Ew.”

                “You asked!”

                “Remind me of this conversation next time I ask a question you think I won’t like the answer to.”

                “I’ll try. You never listen to me anyway.”

                “Maybe I’ll start.”

CHAPTER NINE

[winxwiki]

Maya Fox character art, a cancelled series at Rainbow

As taken from the Fandom Wiki:

Maya Fox is a series of comics and novels from Rainbow SpA, an Italian studio that is well-known for its cartoon Winx Club. The series was co-created by Silvia Brena and Iginio Straffi (creator of Winx Club). Straffi also designed all of the series' characters, who are always shown in black-and-white.

The franchise was aimed at a "young adult" audience, dealing with murder mysteries and the end of the world, with gothic and emo aesthetics. A movie and a TV series were planned but ended up being quietly cancelled. Despite good comic books sales, the books were slammed critically.

Notice how similar the comic art is to Winx Club's artstyle! This may be Iginio Straffi's only known credited art outside of his Bonelli work.

A live action "trailer" to promote the series was made, narrated by Christian Iansante (who you may know for being RickSanchez's italian voice... and Gantlos). Warning for flashing lights!

[gingervitus]

You know that vibe of your life flashing before your eyes as you die?

That's what I'm going for, but I've taken it very far, and this is I think the saddest thing I've written so far:

The two sit in fits of giggling hysterics as they go back and forth for longer than should be funny before Silvia even gets to share her name. It’s the first real camaraderie she’s felt since before Teia took the seat of Seventh Talon. Easy. Fun. Comfortable. Like this scout is someone who will actually get her through this awful contract. Like this person is someone she could debate plans with and actually make headway. Like Lace Harding could actually become a friend.

And that's what you missed on Glee.

[chaoticgoodthief]

False Feathers and Lightning Strikes

Written for the Writing Misfits Secret Santa for @watercolorfreckles!!! Bit of a disclaimer: I did struggle a lot with the prompt... very much not in the realm of my usual stories, so I took a few creative librities in order to make it easier on myself 😅 Hope you still enjoy!!!

Silvia takes a slow breath, trying and failing to calm herself as her fingers fidget with her- with Fletching’s gloves. Stick to the script. Don’t get hit. Get the money. That’s all she needs to do. Easy enough in theory, but if theory alone was enough to save her, she wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. With that lovely thought still weighing on her mind, she steps into Restrike’s lair. “Restrike!” she hollers, forcing her hands not to shake as she strikes an appropriately Fletching-esque pose. “I have come to put an end to your dastardly schemes!” The silence drags on for just a beat too long, enough for her breath to catch in her throat when she sees a man in baggy jeans and a dirty t-shirt emerge from another room.

She’s watched enough footage of Fletching and Restrike’s battles to recognise the supervillain even without the flashy makeup and suit. But … it still didn’t stop Restrike from looking weird like this. The m- Restrike, a dangerous wanted criminal that could kill her in roughly two seconds flat if he wanted- looks at her with half-lidded eyes. “Oh,” he slurs, looking like five different definitions for exhaustion, “Have you?” This was definitely not in the script. Silvia flashes a smile, for once thankful for her usually useless degree, and improvised.

“I was informed that you have been scheming! Is that not true? Has evil finally taken a sick day?” Restrike makes a noise at the last line, halfway between a laugh and a scoff. And slowly, the supervillain raises one hand, fingers spread out as far as humanly possible. Electricity flashes to life between each fingertip, creating an appearance not unlike that of a wire fence. Then, slowly, each section condensed into a small ball of energy, collating over his palm and crackling softly. To most people, the action would have been a bit strange, maybe out of character for such a dramatically-inclined villain, but nothing more. But Silvia practically began shaking in her boots, her already sweaty palms now completely drenched with her own perspiration.

She had done her research, refusing to go in blind when she was already so far out of her depth. So, much to her current regret, she knew exactly how powerful of a Enhanced that Restrike would have to be to pull that off. And the level 3 supervillain that the HUA had assured her that Restrike would be… was about 5 levels below that power capability. Oh Amani have mercy- “Bird got your tongue, Fletching?” Restrike snaps, the venom laced in his words so potent that Silvia has to repress a shudder. She couldn't think of anything to say, could barely even remember what evil plan she was here to “thwart”. But she, as she was becoming all-too-aware, had far more pressing matters. Such as getting out of here in one piece.

As secretively as possible, she activates the Distress Signal. Nothing. Happens. “...I knew it,” Restrike spits, false grin finally dropping into a sneer. “Your game is up, you little fraud.” Amani please- Against her will, tears begin to form in Silvia’s eyes. Restrike’s fury falters, the ball of electricity vanishing as horror flashes in the supervillain’s eyes. Shame and fear mix into a sickening poison in her throat as she stumbles backward, taking his moment of hesitation as a chance to retreat out of the lair as fast as her legs could carry her. This was a mistake. What was she thinking? That she could be Fletching? That she could-

------------------------------------------------

To say Evan had been having a rough week would be the understatement of the decade. He had barely eaten, barely slept, spending the majority of his time either sitting beside an eerily silent body in a hospital room. And then, during another meaningless blur of a day, the door to his lair opens, and he hears a familiar voice echo through half-abandoned halls. In a half-dazed state, he makes his way to the Main Hall, refusing to believe his own ears. And then he saw them. And something in him… snaps.

Not-Fletching looked so much like his archnemesis that it hurt. Same voice, same cheesy one-liners, same eyes, same carefree grin. He can’t stand it, can barely even look at the fraud without wanting to gag. They were not her. She wasn’t standing there, completely powerless and yet still stubborn enough to take him on. Stubborn enough to refuse to back down when faced with the General himself. Powerless enough to get struck down in a single blow, the ever-present shine of her eyes snuffed out like a dying ember.

His teeth are gritted as he forces a grin, slowly raising one hand and showing off his electricity powers with faux casualness. His electricity flowed, smooth and controlled in a way he hadn’t needed to use for years. Fletching had made him better than that, taught him how to enjoy his power rather than simply enhance it. But Fletching wasn’t here now, was she? Not-Fletching pales, and Evan can feel the faint buzz of a HUA-regulation distress button flaring to life. Fletching hated the HUA with a passion that Evan once thought impossible for the usually cheery hero. It takes mere seconds for him to disable it.

“I knew it. Your game is up, you little fraud,” he spits, could and hard in a way he had almost forgotten how to be. And at once, the dolleganger’s facade crumples. Frightened eyes stare at him, brimming with tears. The grin falls from their face. “H-hey. I’m fine. Evil n-never prospers, remember?” Evan’s breath hitches, limbs refusing to obey him as flashes of blood fill his vision. He barely even registers the doppelganger’s escape, barely can do anything at all other than force his uncooperative lungs to take breath after shuddering breath.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he regains himself, sitting beside a familiar hospital bed with only a vague memory of walking there. “I don’t know what to do, Songbird.” The words tumble out of him before he can even try to stop himself, the silence that follows his words heavier than it had any right to be. “I’m not good. I wouldn’t even have known what the word means without you. How am I meant to live like this? How dare you leave me to live like this?!”

As per usual, his anger fizzles out as quickly as it came, leaving him feeling … hollow. The right thing. He knows that’s all that Fletching would have asked from him. He just… wishes he knew that that was. He sits there for a while longer, listening to the steady beep of the heart monitor, before inspiration finally strikes. HUA regulation. The distress button had been HUA regulation. All at once, he knows exactly what Fletching would have done. The thing that nobody except Evan had learnt to expect from her. The one thing that Evan knew how to do better than anything else. Burn it to the fucking ground.

------------------------------------------------

“Police are still investigating the cause-” Silvia turns off the tv, a churning mix of satisfaction and guilt in her stomach. It shouldn’t have felt so good to see the HUA headquarters in charred ruins, especially with how many innocent people could have been hurt. But she couldn’t get the memory of the smug grins and leering eyes that had loomed over her as she signed the contract. She couldn’t help but think of the knowing smirks that had been on their faces when she had come back with empty hands and tears still streaming down her face.

Her phone buzzes, and she takes a calming breath before checking the message, already dreading the worst. She barely gets through the first line before dropping the phone, a soft gasp escaping her mouth. Fifty. Thousand. Dollars. Who had that much money to just give away to her? At once, the agony of the day’s events begins to loosen its grip on her. She could finally do it. After all this time, she could finally pay off that fucking student loan and move on with her life.

She… she could probably even sue the HUA if she wanted- and oh how she wanted it after what they had put her through, what they had done knowing that she literally couldn’t afford to fight back. A smile begins to creep on her face, sharp and violent. An idea begins to form in her mind, the lingering terror of her brief time as Fletching warping into a new form. The fire had been satisfying, but she could do so much better.

She calls an old number on her phone, still grinning like a madwoman. “Monty? Yeah, it’s Syl. I just got some great news.”

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Lost Memories: Bang Bravern & Metallic Rouge, Ep 10

“Not all memories are good, you know?” —Ash Stahl

I was watching the 10th episode of Metallic Rouge where one of the Immortals, Eden/Noir, an android, lost his ID (a transparent sphere that contains all their personality, memories, etc. that is part of the immortals’ makeup) and everything became hazy. His memories began to fade away. He knew he had a lover (Jill/Flash Silvia) and a family, his Nean family. He even knew the beginning notes of Debussy’s “Clair de lune” but totally forgot the entirety of the piano piece. Naomi thought it was so unfortunate that she felt sad for the Nean. According to Jaron, once all his memories were gone, he’d die. Eden/Noir’s life connects himself to his memories.

On the other hand, compared to the future defeated Bravern whose memory was still intact, his remembrance of a particular encounter with the Japanese crew in Hawaii discovering the tonkatsu curry left a mark on his mind. It was a small thing, probably insignificant to some, yet for Lewis/Bravern a big deal that aided Lulu to decide once and for all to rectify the past. The moment she heard Bravern, busloads of reminiscences from both Lewis Smith and Bravern flowed in her mind.

“Japanese curry was really good.”

As for the viewers who watched that scene, it was a painful one. The dying Bravern/Lewis’ last words. The sound of his internal machine whirring in the background, not functioning. The show runners’ attempt to blend humour with death was fascinating. In the end, there was only the impending gloom and hopelessness and a defeated Bravern and Isami’s corpse.

Good news, the whole thing can be reversed.

[oficmag]

Issue #9 submissions are OPEN!

Submissions are open for short fiction and nonfiction until 11:59pm EST on June 30, 2024.

Send us your dead doves, your blorbos, your plinkos, your wretched meow meows yearning to be free; that thing you wrote that made you think, “I don’t know where this belongs”; the stuff you’d never show anyone you know IRL. Give us your shameless, self-indulgent smut; the manuscript to the video essay you dictated to your YouTube subscribers in your head; your thoughtful explorations of trauma and identity; your Pepe Silvia wall; your sci-fi, your fantasy, your romance, your realism. We want anything and everything. As long as you identify as a fan, we want to read your work.

We are currently looking for:

Short fiction (only 1 piece at a time, max 12k words; if flash [under 1k], you may submit up to 5 pieces in one document)

Nonfiction (personal essays, articles, or meta, max 12k words)

Check out our MSWL!

We can't wait to read your work!

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